


And Everything Is My Fault (So Spectacular)

by bbjkrss



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: AU, Abuse, Angst, F/M, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 02:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 88,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbjkrss/pseuds/bbjkrss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the unexpected death of Peter Walter I, Rabbit is sent to live with Thadeus Becile, the only other engineer in southern California with skills to rival the late Colonel Walter's own. She quickly discovers, however, that the two men have vastly different ethics surrounding the humanity of their creations and how they ought to be treated. Desperate to escape the oppressive atmosphere of her new home, Rabbit flees and sets off on a journey to find a place where she will be accepted and loved and maybe even given a chance to learn to love herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! This is my first foray into the SPG fandom, nice to meet you all!
> 
> The idea for this fic actually came about as a mix of me needing something to get me out of my writer's block on my Sherlock fics, and a mishearing of the lyrics in On Top of the Universe: I know now the correct words are "and everything is by far so spectacular", but when I first heard it, my brain thought it was the end of a phrase and so made some slight adjustments. This is the result ;)
> 
> Regarding warnings: at this moment I don't plan on needing any of the archive warnings, though this work will contain instances of abuse. If things become graphic, I'll let you know.
> 
> Also, this is, as you may figure out quite quickly, an AU: I'm rewriting the canon history regarding Peter Walter I, Delilah, Iris Tonia, and the creation of the bots to make this work. Hopefully things will be explained as the story progresses, but if you have any questions, please ask. I'm quite proud of this story and am looking forward to writing more of it. :)
> 
> With that said, I hope you enjoy!

Click.

Whirr. Whirr.

Wet. Damp.

Water, dripping through cracks in faceplate. Joints. Danger of rust. Short-circuiting. Sit up.

Sit up?

Orientation: lying down.

Rabbit’s head gave a jerk, and with a short burst of steam from her cheek vents, her photoreceptors came back online. The blue one, as usual, powered up first, and Rabbit blinked several times in an attempt to clear the rain from the lens.

Grey. That was all she could see. Far and up and away, all grey, except—

Splat.

Another raindrop hit the blue eye, and Rabbit blinked again to clear it as the green one finally sputtered back to life. Still grey, but there was another, darker shape this time, above her and to the right.

Blink. Focus.

Leaves.

A tree?

Lots of trees.

She had to sit up. Get out of the rain before it made its way inside her innards. It might have done so already, and that would be Bad.

The fingers on Rabbit’s right hand twitched, then tightened, seeking out something sturdy to hold on to. The metal only slipped over tufts of grass, however, then slumped weakly back against the ground. Rabbit huffed impatiently. Why was she feeling so _tired?_

Run diagnostics.

Electronics- firing, if slowly.

Oil levels- not critical.

Core- functional, contained.

Boiler-

            low water.

A spark of imperative shot through her system—low water, bad, must drink—before logical thought prevailed. Water was falling from _the sky_ ; all she had to do was open her mouth to refill. Easy.

Several minutes later, however, it became obvious that the plan would need some reworking: the volume of the raindrops entering her mouth was nowhere near enough to replace what she had lost, much less what she was still losing. She needed to find a bigger source. And to do _that,_ she would need to sit up.

Sit up.

With another burst of steam (careful, careful, don’t have much to waste), Rabbit forced her chassis upwards. The joints rolled smoothly enough—one of her hips tended to stick these days, although she was trying to iron that out—and once she was upright Rabbit cracked her neck and tilted her head to get a good look around herself.

She had no idea where she was.

The land was completely unfamiliar—a line of pink-blossomed trees lined the hard-packed dirt road in front of her and snaked off into the distance where it soon grew obscured by the grey haze of rain. On the other side of the road were more trees, and then a neat, orderly field of some type of plant that Rabbit couldn’t identify.

There was no cover.

Nowhere to hide.

Another shot of imperative heated her boiler, but Rabbit quickly engaged her bellows to cool it down. No panicking. Absolutely no need to panic. She’d be fine. She was on a farm, right? That’s what it looked like, anyway. Farms were big; plenty of space to get lost in. And humans’ eyes weren’t nearly as good as hers. They probably wouldn’t even be able to see her in all this grey.

Get up.

Need to get up.

Legs?

Unhurt, but stiff. Another flash of alarm that Rabbit had to quickly tamp down. No rust, no dents, fine, all fine, but stiff from the cold of the night. That was it. Some movement, some friction, and they’d warm up just fine.

Get _up._

Rabbit wrapped a hand around the damp fabric covering her right leg and pulled. The knee resisted at first, but soon it bent and then she did the same with the left. Braced her hands against the ground and pushed. Slowly, carefully, managed to stand. Braced herself against the nearest tree and breathed in, slowly and carefully, to cool off her boiler. There had to be a watering hole somewhere, for the animals. If they had animals.

_Don’t think like that. There will be. Somewhere._

The idea of standing water made her uneasy, but there wasn’t time to look for anything cleaner. Once she’d gotten far enough away from San Diego she could try and find someone to empty out the contaminants and give her distilled water, but for now she had to take what she could get.

_Can’t go back. Won’t go back._

Rabbit stared helplessly down the road, first in one direction, and then the other. Which way had she come from? That was the first decision. The Most Important decision. She couldn’t go back, wouldn’t go back, _especially_ not by accident.

Breathe.

It was hard to remember to breathe, sometimes.

Rabbit shook her head, sending water droplets flying. She was just so _wet_ all over; her clothes were soaked and muddy from lying in the rain, and water was dripping off of her everywhere. While she at least wasn’t in danger of hypothermia like a human would be, the wet clothes would make it harder to move and the longer she was out here, the more likely it would be that water would eventually find its way inside her joints and cause a short. She couldn’t afford to go offline. Not now.

Time to make a decision. With one last glance to her left, Rabbit turned and left the road, weaving between the almond trees and (hopefully) out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! Posting this a bit quickly since the first chapter was really short and I wanted to delve deeper into the story for you all. Third chapter might take a bit, since I'm writing a lot of scenes out of order, but we'll see how it goes.
> 
> We're going back into the past in this chapter; hopefully that's fairly evident. As always, ask questions if you need to, and I hope you enjoy. :)

“Pappy?”

“Rabbit!” Miss Iris jumped up from her seat, hand over her heart and eyes wide in surprise. “Oh, dear, please remember to knock next time, you startled me!”

Rabbit ignored her, pushing the door open a little wider to peer into the room. “Can I talk to Pappy now?”

Miss Iris hesitated, glancing down towards the bed where Pappy was lying swathed in multiple blankets and quilts, and that was answer enough. Rabbit could hear him breathing from the doorway.

It wasn’t a good sound.

“Now’s… perhaps not the best time, dear.”

Rabbit’s shoulders slumped with a hiss of steam. “I haven’t talked to him in _days_ , Ma. When’s he going to get better?”

“I don’t know, dear.” Miss Iris’ lips pushed together tightly for a few moments. “The doctors are doing what they can. We just have to believe in them.”

Rabbit processed that. Slumped further. “…He’s not gonna get better, is he?”

Miss Iris spun back around to stare at her in shock. “Now what kind of a question is that?”

“But he won’t,” Rabbit insisted. “Everybody’s saying it. They’re all saying that the mansion is gonna get sold, and all of Pappy’s stuff is gonna get thrown out, and I—I didn’t want to believe it, but I just wanted to ask Pappy if…” She looked down, fidgeting with the tips of her gloves. “I-i-i-f I was gonna get sold, too.”

“Oh, honey.” Miss Iris held out her arms and Rabbit moved to enter them, wrapping her own around her as tightly as she dared. “You’ll be all right. We’ll do our best to keep you, you understand? You’re family, not just some piece of scrap metal to be thrown away.”

“Yes, Ma,” Rabbit mumbled. But she was looking over her shoulder at Pappy’s pale, wasted face and his hot, sweating forehead and listening to Pappy’s hoarse, labored breathing, and in that moment she couldn’t bring herself to believe that anything was ever going to be all right again.

 

 -

 

“Pappy? Are you feeling better?”

“Not—” Cough. “Not exactly, Rabbit. Come in, my dear, come in and—” Wheeze. “Sit.”

Rabbit’s pumps quickened their pace, but she quietly did as she was told and shut the door behind her with a click. “Ma said you wanted to talk to me?”

“I did, that I did. Please, sit down. I know you don’t need to, but, well.” Pappy huffed a laugh, a quiet, weak sound without mirth. “Humor a dying man.”

Bellows. Bellows. Boiler overheating. Breathe. Rabbit felt off-balance and clumsily grabbed at the chair. “D-d-d-dying, Pappy?”

“There’s no way to break it to you gently, Rabbit,” Pappy said kindly. “You needed to be told. Do you know what… what tuberculosis is?”

“Disease,” Rabbit said weakly. “Dangerous.”

“Yes, that it is.” Pappy coughed again, and Rabbit flinched at the red tint of it. “Don’t worry, now, it can’t hurt you. You’re a machine, after all, but I…” He wheezed a few more times. “I am only a man. And a susceptible one, it seems. I am so sorry to have to leave you in your youth. Your prime. You deserved better than this.”

“No,” Rabbit said. “You can’t die, Pappy, it’s not—it’s not fair.”

“Life, as you will shortly discover,” Pappy murmured, “has never been, nor will it ever be, fair. I’m sorry to have to teach you that so soon as well.”

Rabbit shook her head. One of the screws on the left side of her neck was loose. “What’s going to happen to me, now? Are you going to turn me off?”

Pappy coughed. “Heavens, no! No, it was never the plan to take you with me. You’ll stay running, of course. I’ve left behind instructions as to your care and maintenance, and Miss Iris has been charged with finding someone with the relevant expertise to take care of you. You’ll be perfectly fine.”

“Yes, Pappy.” Something was backing up in the lubricating ducts of her eyes. The pressure was uncomfortable, but Rabbit didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to worry Pappy. “When… when do you think it’s gonna happen?”

Pappy sighed. “I have no way of knowing. The doctors try and keep me optimistic, but their efforts would be much better spent elsewhere. As it is, I don’t think I’ll make it to see summer. I am sorry.”

The pressure increased. Rabbit swallowed as if she were drinking, hoping that the air would make its way through and force out whatever was stuck, but it only served to intensify the sensation.

And then a strange hiccupping noise forced its way out of her voice box.

“Rabbit?” Pappy looked at her curiously. “What was that?”

Rabbit shook her head, opened her mouth to say that she didn’t know, but the words caught before she could say them and a ragged, wordless sound came out instead.

And then something hot and liquid dripped onto her thigh.

“Rabbit.” Pappy’s voice was filled with wonder—the way it used to be back when Rabbit was new and every single thing she did made Pappy run for his notebook with a delighted smile on his face. “You’re crying.”

“I _love_ you, Pappy!” Rabbit took in big gulps of air, futilely trying to cool down her boiler. She was hot, overheating, but she couldn’t make it stop, and random noises she didn’t mean to make kept shaking out of her throat. “I love you, I don’t want you to go!”

“Love,” Pappy murmured breathlessly. “A sense of loss, _grief._ Oh, Rabbit, my dear, how I wish I could stay and watch you develop. You have such _potential._ Oh…” He laid his head back against the pillows to rest, chest rising and falling beneath the quilt. Rabbit watched silently, ignoring the sharp smell of oil from the tear tracks on her face.

Finally, Pappy roused.

“Rabbit,” he said, tone tinged with urgency. “Rabbit, before I forget. Fetch me my goggles, please.”

Rabbit looked around. Many of Pappy’s things had been displaced over the past several weeks, in order to make room for the doctors and their equipment as well as the impending sale of the house; gone were the bits and baubles he’d collected over the years throughout his various travels, and gone were the assorted pins and wheels and gears he used to tinker around with Rabbit when inspiration struck. In their place were a few simple medical instruments that the doctors had left behind, useful things that Miss Iris could use to help Pappy if something went wrong while no one was there. There were also a few small boxes, into which had gone some of Pappy’s clothes that he wouldn’t be needing anymore, and a few of his well-worn books. Rabbit didn’t look at those.

Pappy’s dresser and hat rack, however, had remained, and hanging on a peg on the end were his beloved goggles, worn slightly with age but well-oiled and maintained.

He’d been wearing those goggles when he’d turned Rabbit on for the first time.

“Yes, yes,” Pappy said. “Those are the ones. Please bring them to me, would you? They’re… they’re to be a gift. For you.”

Rabbit, who’d been halfway to the rack, stopped and turned to look back at Pappy in disbelief. “F-f-f-for me? Your goggles?” She looked at the goggles, then back at Pappy and shook her head. “Oh, no, Pappy, I couldn’t, I—”

“Oh, yes you could,” Pappy scolded her. “What else would you have me do with them? Miss Iris certainly won’t be using them, and I don’t want anyone throwing them out with the rest of the garbage once I’m gone. No, you having them is the best thing. Something to remember me by.” Pappy smiled, a bit weakly. “Go on, take them.”

She was going to cry again. Rabbit could feel the oil welling up, tight and hot behind her eyes, as she reached out and lifted the strap from its peg. The metal clinked lightly against itself in her hands, and for several seconds she just stood there, studying the scratched lenses and remembering the sight of Pappy, standing over her in the laboratory, pointing excitedly at and naming everything in sight.

And all she’d been able to say in return had been _rabbit_.

Rabbit smiled weakly. Despite that malfunction, her very first, Pappy had stuck with her, had thought she was worth fixing. _Had_ fixed her, and _kept_ fixing her, despite the multitude of glitches that had presented themselves throughout the first few weeks. Her tendency to run her mouth at first, the extreme difficulty she’d had in learning how to walk, the occasional stutter that showed up when she was anxious or sometimes for no reason at all.

With each new discovery, Rabbit had worried that this would be the one that would finally drive Pappy away, would make him decide that his first experiment had been a failure and he ought to just scrap Rabbit and start all over with a new robot. But instead Pappy had been excited by each new challenge, scribbling down observations in his notebook and even asking Rabbit occasionally what she thought the problem was with her own parts and operations. And they’d managed to work things out, more or less, together.

With Pappy, Rabbit was safe. No one was going to scrap her with Pappy around.

But with him gone…

Rabbit turned back around to face Pappy—to thank him, or to tell him she loved him one more time, she hadn’t yet decided which—but all thoughts were knocked from her mind when she looked up and saw Pappy’s eyes closed, his mouth ajar and head askew on his pillow.

“Pappy?” Rabbit stepped closer, eyes darting over Pappy’s form. Breathing, breathing, _was he breathing?_ She couldn’t hear his _breathing_.

“Pappy?” Nothing. Shake him. “Pappy? Pappy!”

Silence.

Pa—

…

“ _MAAA_!”

 

~ * ~

 

Pappy didn’t last much longer after that.

He’d only fallen asleep, or perhaps unconscious, Ma told Rabbit later, once the fright had worn off, but it wasn’t a good sign. The doctors returned to the house the very next day, and started tutting over Pappy with their instruments while Rabbit made herself scarce; she’d figured out early on that human doctors didn’t really like being watched over by glowing green eyes and a breathless body from across the room.

Each day she’d wake up from stasis terrified that Pappy would have slipped away in his sleep; at first she dealt with it by running to Pappy’s room as soon as she came online in the morning and turning herself off as late as she could at night and spending the hours in between turning the goggles over and over in her hands, but as the days passed and Pappy’s condition worsened, she took to staying awake for most of the night, eyes glowing brightly in the darkened room and watching for the slightest shift in Pappy’s breathing so she could alert Ma with the little bell they’d installed at the side of the bed.

In the end, it took Pappy ten days after the incident to die.

He’d fought well, the doctors told Miss Iris as she stood outside Pappy’s door, choking through her tears. She would need to be tested, just to be sure, since she’d been doing much of his nursing, but they believed she would be fine emotionally, in time.

They said nothing at all to Rabbit, who’d been listening in from around the corner, hot oil leaking in streams from her eyes to drip steadily onto the goggles clutched in her hands.

And then things had gotten much, much worse.

Pappy, Ma told her late one evening as they sat together in the ivy-covered garden with a mug of hot chocolate each, had not left either of them with very much money. He’d spent most of his fortune developing his ideas for automatons, Rabbit in particular, and while he’d planned on following Rabbit with other, similar robots to recoup his losses, his illness and subsequent death meant that there was very little left for either of them, and certainly not enough for Ma to keep the house. It would need to be sold.

“And what about me?” Rabbit asked quietly, not lifting her eyes from her mug. “A-a-a-am I gonna be sold, too?”

Ma didn’t reply right away.

“No, dear,” she said at last. “Not sold. I would never do that to you. But I—I wouldn’t know the first thing about fixing you if something ever went wrong, and now that your Pappy’s gone, there’s no money to hire an engineer. I’m so sorry.”

“So what’s—” Rabbit’s mouth snapped shut and her head jerked sharply to the side. _Control it control it control it STOP IT. HOLD POSITION._ “…What’s gonna happen to me? Are you—”

“I am not going to shut you off,” Ma said firmly. “That’s not going to happen. But I have… I’ve asked around, at the Cavulcadium. To see if anyone would be willing to… take on the responsibility.”

Rabbit said nothing.

“And there is a man,” Ma continued. “Thadeus Becile. He knew your Pappy, and he’s also done work on building automatons, if not with blue matter. He has the expertise to keep you running and healthy. He’d take care of you.”

Rabbit reached up a gloved hand to brush the lens of one of the goggles pensively. “W-w-w-would you come and visit me, Ma?”

“Of course,” Ma promised. “He doesn’t live terribly far from here. We can still see each other as often as you like, Rabbit, and maybe once I find a new position, I could save up some money and see about hiring some young lad from town to keep you up instead. This arrangement doesn’t have to last forever.”

Rabbit was silent. Realistically, she knew she had little choice; if Ma couldn’t take care of her, it was either this or turning her off, no matter what she said. She couldn’t function independently forever, and sooner or later she’d need some type of maintenance that Ma wouldn’t be able to provide; Rabbit didn’t want to force her to decide between finding someone to fix her or being able to live herself.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt.

“You can have some time to think on it, dear, if you need it,” Ma offered. “I know it’s a big decision, and so soon after Pappy—”

“No, it’s okay.” Rabbit felt numb. She felt like she ought to be crying—she’d done it enough since finding out about Pappy’s illness, after all—but it was as if all of the oil inside of her had dried up and there was nothing else left to come out. “I’ll do it. If you promise that y-y-you’ll come visit me. I d-don’t want to lose you, too.”

“Of course, Rabbit,” Ma said. “I love you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the present for this one.
> 
> I am taking liberty with robot anatomy and the effects of water on their systems. Anything for whumpage. I also did way too much research on how boilers work and how often they'd need to be refilled. It's fun having friends studying engineering. ;)

Panic, mounting.

Needed to find shelter, needed to find water.

Rabbit had been walking for 46:16 minutes in this direction, and hadn’t yet seen a single building.

Not a single pond, or creek, or river.

Where was all the water?

A tiny drop of water, cold and deadly in its silence, slithered underneath the collar of Rabbit’s jacket.

It found a crack.

_!!!!!_

Rabbit’s back spasmed, wires and plates shifting and sparking as electricity was pulled forcibly from its proper paths.

_N-n-n-n-no, please, make it stop, make it stop, I w-w-w-w-won’t do it again, I promise, please, stoooOOp—_

Water burnt away, pain evaporated nearly as suddenly as it began.

Phantom sparks still lingered in her fingertips, however, and Rabbit flexed them beneath her gloves, checking and double checking that the fabric was pulled up and tucked firmly beneath her sleeves. The material was damp already, would hardly do any good if things really came down to it, but that didn’t matter. They were protected. Nothing would get inside them. Tuck hands inside jacket. Protect them at all costs.

The almond trees and strawberry fields had melted away into grass after the first frantic half an hour, and now Rabbit was trekking through ankle-high tufts laden with rain, trying to ignore the near-constant tingling in her feet as the sodden material of her shoes pressed against the bending plates. The wires in her feet were far enough away from her core and processor that shorts wouldn’t cause _too_ much trouble, but the low-level anxiety in the back of her mind was steadily raising her internal temperature, and that in turn was stimulating her boiler, and all she really wanted was just to find somewhere _safe,_ warm and out of the rain with something cold and clean to drink.

Where were the humans? There had to be some, on a farm this big. At this point, Rabbit was almost willing to be found if that meant reaching shelter.

Even if shelter would only last as long as it took to ship her back to Becile.

Rabbit glanced around warily. She was no longer anywhere near the road, as far as she could tell, and she hadn’t heard any alarms or seen any lights that would suggest people were out looking for her. While in one sense that was reassuring, she also wasn’t confident that she hadn’t somehow wandered off of private property and into a sort of no-man’s-land with nobody around for miles. She couldn’t afford to go back the way she had come. Not now.

_Moooooooo._

Startled, Rabbit jerked and spun back around to look out across the field, scanning the landscape wildly. Dots. Black dots.

_…Cows._

A bigger dark shape.

_Barn._

_…Water._

Trying to calm her wildly thrumming wires, Rabbit took a cautious step forward. If there was a barn, that meant there were humans. Humans meant danger.

Where were the humans?

Inside, most likely. It was still grey out, and raining besides. They wouldn’t want to be outside right now. In fact, it didn’t even look like the cows wanted to be out; several of them were headed towards the open doors of the barn, and Rabbit hesitated for only a few seconds more before she lurched into motion, stumbling down the gentle slope to follow them.

As she approached, several of the cows gave loud moos of alarm (or at least what Rabbit interpreted as alarm; she didn’t speak cow, after all) and veered away from her and back out into the field. Rabbit ignored them. They didn’t matter. Getting out of the rain ( _finally, finally_ ) did.

Through the doors.

Into darkness.

Eyes, adjust.

Spacious. Not so warm, but _dry._ Rabbit could cry.

Water. Where?

There—two cows, muzzles dipped in a trough. Water, water, _thank you_ , except—

How was she going to drink it? She couldn’t drink from her hands like humans did; too many places for it to seep inside. Not safe.

Rabbit hung back, fingertips clawing at the sides of her head in desperation. She was _so close_ , she couldn’t have come all this way to not be able to drink with water right in front of her!

Wait. One of Rabbit’s fingers brushed the stiff brim of her hat, and a sort of tingling that had nothing to do with water lit up her spine. The hat was already wet, right? What was a bit more water to it, anyway?

Perfect. Genius. What a stupendous idea—

_Warning. Water low. Shutdown imminent._

Perhaps she should just drink and congratulate herself later.

Rabbit surged forward, whipping her hat off with one hand while shooing the cows away with the other. They lowed at her, clearly displeased, but Rabbit paid them no mind. Concentrating so as not to submerge her hand, she lowered the hat into the water and scooped up as much liquid as she could; it was dirty, with mud and grass and other particles swirling around inside it, but at this point that was irrelevant. With only a moment’s grimace, Rabbit tipped back her head and gulped.

Oh.

_Oh._

How long it had been, since she could just drink and drink like this! Gulp after gulp of cold, ~~fresh~~ water, filling her boiler far past the danger point and up towards capacity, collecting hatful after hatful of water until finally, _finally_ , her thirst was quenched.

It was glorious.

_Bang._

And now a bit less glorious.

“Who’s there?”

Rabbit jammed her hat back onto her head and, after barely a second’s pause, dove behind a stack of hay bales standing nearby. One nearby cow mooed again and Rabbit glared at it, making a quiet _sh_ motion by her lips.

The cow ignored her.

Stupid cow.

“I know someone’s in here,” the man (probably the farmer, oh god, what did people normally do when robots randomly broke into their barns, did they call the police or just shoot them?) said gruffly. “Show yourself.”

What were her options? She could keep hiding—although the farmer probably knew his barn much better than Rabbit did and would almost definitely find her before he got bored and gave up. She could listen and surrender herself, but that carried with it a tinge of uncertainty; would the farmer be frightened of her and shoot? Would he threaten Rabbit? Would he remember that there were two robot-building geniuses living nearby and realize that one must have escaped its creators? If he took Rabbit and brought her back to Becile—

She could always try scaring him.

Could she do that? Pappy had installed an alarm system for her to use in case she ever ran into trouble and no one was around to hear her shout… but Rabbit hadn’t really used it more than once since the initial testing. She thought she remembered how, though. It couldn’t be too difficult.

And if it worked, then she might even manage to get out of this without getting shot.

All right. Plan set. Search for protocol.

“I’m giving you one last chance.” The farmer’s voice approached Rabbit’s hiding spot. “Come out now, you’ve been warned.”

Protocol found.

With a burst of steam, Rabbit leapt up and out from behind the hay bales, blaring her alarm as loud as it would go. The farmer, a heavyset man with a grizzled beard and mud-stained coveralls, stumbled backwards, eyes wide in shock. The shotgun in his hands trembled; Rabbit’s alarm climbed an octave at the sight of it, then promptly shorted out.

“N-n-n-n-no, don’t shoot!” As she engaged her voice the farmer’s mouth fell open, and for a moment the two of them stood in an eerie silence, broken only by the patter of rain and the distant, panicked mooing of cows.

“What… the hell _are_ you?” the farmer demanded at last. His gun was still up, and Rabbit pursed her lips as she tried to figure out the best way to proceed.

Honesty, probably. That was what Pappy had always told her—although admittedly, Pappy probably hadn’t had the image of Rabbit standing at gunpoint when he’d said that.

“An automaton,” Rabbit tried. “Please don’t shoot.” That part seemed important to reiterate.

The farmer simply stood there, unimpressed. “You’re a talking machine.”

…Well. That was a bit of an obvious statement, there. Rabbit could feel her neck trying to twitch to the side, but she resolutely locked it in place. Not now. “Y-y-y-yeees. Yes, I am.”

“A clockwork fucking machine,” the farmer muttered to himself, as if Rabbit couldn’t hear. “Just like in fucking Balboa. What the hell were you doing in my barn?”

Rabbit hesitated. Stealing. She’d been stealing. Except—was taking water really _stealing?_ There _was_ a ton of it falling from the sky right now. He could just go out and get some more if he wanted, he didn’t have to get mad at Rabbit over it—

“Answer me, machine.”

Rabbit bristled. “I was just getting _water,_ if you’re gonna be so rude about it. And my name’s not _machine_ , ya know, it’s—”

The gun clicked.

Rabbit’s throat followed suit.

“You have exactly five seconds to get the hell out of my barn,” the farmer growled. “Don’t say anything, don’t touch anything, just go.”

Rabbit’s eyes blinked unevenly and she glanced over the farmer’s shoulder at the open barn door. “…But it’s still raining.”

“ _Go._ ”

She couldn’t. She was still so wet, it’d crawl down her back and get in her wires and hurt her again, she couldn’t, she couldn’t, she—

_BANG._

With an involuntary shriek of alarm, Rabbit turned and fled.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking some liberties with the timeline here and adding in some characters: in this 'verse, Becile was interested in Delilah but was spurned and so ended up taking a wife and having a child; we meet them here. Peter Walter may have been interested in Delilah as well, but obviously ended up with Iris Tonia instead and never created a musical automaton troupe to impress her.
> 
> Potential warning: Becile and his wife are very dismissive of Rabbit's personhood. This might be upsetting to some people.

“Come in, come in, good of you to make it.”

Thadeus Becile was a bit of an imposing man, Rabbit thought at first glance. A tall man, rather broad, with impressive mutton chops that came all the way down to his chin and a trim waistcoat emphasizing his wide, puffed-out chest.

He looked nothing like Pappy, Rabbit thought with a sinking feeling in her core.

Nothing at all.

“It was very kind of you to invite us to come over and see the house,” Ma said pleasantly as they followed Becile inside. “We’ve both been a bit… preoccupied over the move, you understand, and I thought it might do us some good to see where Rabbit would be living for the next few months while I get myself back on my feet.”

“Mm, yes, perfectly understandable,” Becile replied. “Always good to prepare for the unknown. And this is the automaton in question?”

“Yes,” Ma said. “Mr. Becile, this is Rabbit. Rabbit, shake hands with Mr. Becile. Mustn’t forget our manners, after all.”

Reluctantly, Rabbit approached and held out her hand. Becile took it, but the look he cast over Rabbit’s chassis as he did so made something squirm inside Rabbit’s nonexistent guts.

“Wonderful craftsmanship,” Becile remarked, finally dropping Rabbit’s hand. “Powered by blue matter, correct?”

“That’s right,” Ma said. “Blue matter was always the Colonel’s energy source of choice—clean as well as powerful, he told me. Of course, _I_ didn’t care what he used, I’m just thankful it gave us our lovely Rabbit.”

Becile raised an eyebrow. “Our?”

“Well, surely you know, Mr. Becile,” Ma said, face open in surprise. “I’m barren. I cannot bear children. Hence why the Colonel made us an automaton—and a lovely one at that, don’t you agree?”

“Hm. Well, yes.” Becile coughed, and gave Rabbit another odd glance. “Well, shall I give you two the tour? The house isn’t quite as large as that old manor you’re leaving, but it’s a respectable size, and the Rabbit can have the run of it, if it suits.”

“Not _the_ Rabbit,” Rabbit objected, just as Ma opened her mouth. “Just Rabbit. Please.” The last bit was tacked on to the end as Ma’s words ( _manners,_ Rabbit) replayed sternly in her mind. Mustn’t alienate the good man taking her in. Must be a well-behaved guest.

“Ah.” Becile paused to stare at her once again. “My apologies.” He gestured towards the doorway. “Shall we go?”

 

 -

 

“So where is Rabbit going to sleep?” Ma asked a little while into the tour. They’d already been shown into the kitchen, the dining room, the sitting room, and another small parlor for guests—lovely rooms, all—but nothing approximating a really cozy living space just yet.

They’d also not come across a living soul, human or robotic. Rabbit wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

“Sleep?” Becile asked, good-naturedly. “Is that what you call it when it shuts down? I’ve always referred to it as stasis myself, but yes, I’ve set aside some space in the laboratory for it, along with the other automatons—”

“Mr. Becile,” Ma interrupted. “Excuse me, but Rabbit uses pronouns. Human ones. She’s part of our family, you see.”

Becile drew up short.

“…Ah,” he said at length. Rabbit looked away. “Well. My apologies. My… offer of the laboratory still stands, however, at least until we can get a proper room sorted, if that’s what you’d both prefer.” He glanced towards Ma. “Is it?”

“Colonel Walter would appreciate it,” Ma said sweetly, although her tone sounded a little off to Rabbit. “And so would I.”

“Excellent,” said Becile. “Splendid. I’ll make a note of it, get Delilah on it as soon as possible. In the meantime, shall we take a look at the library?”

Rabbit stifled a sigh.

It wasn’t that she didn’t _like_ the house, not really; it was a perfectly fine house, with beautiful rooms! But, well… everything looked a little bit… untouched. Like it was all set up to be looked at but not used.

That wasn’t how Pappy’s house had been. At Pappy’s, every room in the house had shown some signs of “love”: scuffed or torn fabric on the sofas, gouges in the floorboards from moving furniture or Rabbit’s clumsy feet, smoke stains on the ceiling from when Pappy had distracted Ma while she was frying the bacon and let it go for too long…

It hadn’t been perfect, but it had felt like home.

Rabbit didn’t want to leave.

“So, where exactly _did_ the name Rabbit come from?” Becile asked as the three of them continued down the hallway. “It’s a bit of an… _organic_ name, if you catch my meaning.”

Rabbit grimaced, but Ma laughed—a light, tinkling sound.

She hadn’t sounded this happy since Pappy had gotten sick.

“Oh, we always used to say that Rabbit named herself,” Ma explained. “When the Colonel first turned her on, he wanted to see if Rabbit would be able to understand language. The only thing around was a rabbit, though, you see—he always had one or two of those around for lab tests and such—and so he pointed it out and said what it was. Well, Rabbit repeated it right back to him, which was such a wonderful feat, but she got a bit stuck and kept saying ‘rabbit’ rather than any other word the Colonel told her.” Ma smiled at Rabbit, who twitched her lips upwards in kind. “We decided to keep it as her name, since she seemed so fond of the word. I think it suits her, don’t you?”

“Ma…” Rabbit glanced over at Becile. “Ya don’t have to answer that.”

“Oh, come now, dear, I’m only teasing.” Ma smoothed a hand down Rabbit’s back, straightening out the laces of her jacket. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Is that possible?” Becile asked. “ _Embarrassing_ an automaton?”

“Colonel Walter did his best to program Rabbit with various emotional pathways,” Ma explained proudly. “And they seem to have worked beautifully; she’s displayed remarkable combinations outside of the standard happy, sad, shocked, and disgusted paradigm. Although…” she paused. “I’m not quite sure if we’ve ever seen anger. Rabbit, be a dear and give us a frown, would you?”

Rabbit scrunched up the plates above her eyes and pulled a corner of her mouth to the side. “But I’m not angry right now.”

“Quite all right,” Becile cut in. “Facial expressions don’t prove anything in any case, Miss Tonia. I grant you that the robot may be adept at mimicking human facial movements—I confess to being impressed myself at the range of motion the late Colonel managed to achieve—but motion itself does not imply actual, internally-generated feeling.”

Rabbit’s frown deepened and her shoulders curled up towards her ears.

_Colors! Lights! Sounds!_

_Everything was so fascinating!_

_The world was amazing!_

_And WORDS, Pappy was teaching her so many words!_

_Rabbit loved words._

_No, she didn’t like walking. Walking was scary._

_Didn’t want to fall down and break and hurt._

_That would make Pappy sad._

_Or worse, disappointed._

_Rabbit didn’t want to disappoint Pappy._

_She loved Pappy._

_She didn’t want Pappy to go._

_She—_

“Rabbit certainly does have actual feelings!” Rabbit looked up, startled by Ma’s tone. Her face had gone a bit pink, and her brows were drawn together over sharply squinted eyes.

Angry. Rabbit knew what angry looked like, even if she’d never felt it herself.

Angry was bad.

If Ma got angry, then Mr. Becile might get angry, and then he might take back the invitation for Rabbit to live here, and then Ma would have to take care of Rabbit all on her own and _then_ what would she do?

“It’s okay, Ma,” she said quickly. “It doesn’t matter, I—”

“Do you know how Rabbit reacted to the death of her father?” Ma demanded, speaking over her. “Do you know what she _did_ when her father told her that he was _dying?_ ”

Alarm.

That was _private_ —Ma wasn’t allowed to just _say_ those things, was she? Steam began building up, leaking smokily out of Rabbit’s cheek vents.

“Ma—”

“She _cried_ , Mr. Becile. At length, over the death of the person who brought her into this world, and if that doesn’t sound enough like genuine, human emotion to you, I’m not sure what will.”

“ _Ma!_ ” Rabbit glared at her, steam pouring out of her vents as her brow plates lowered over narrowed eyes.

Was this anger?

If it was, Rabbit didn’t like it at all.

“You don’t just _say_ those kinda things!” Rabbit exclaimed. “That’s not _fair_ , that’s—n-n-n-n-no one was supposed to _know_ that!”

“Rabbit, dear—” Ma’s eyes were wide as she looked anxiously between her and Becile. “I-I was only trying to explain—”

“Honestly, Thadeus, what is this _noise?_ ”

One of the doors further down the hall opened and an austere woman in an ankle-length green dress stepped out with a small boy following at her heels. Rabbit took a step backwards, self-consciously shifting her clenched hands behind her back.

“Hannah.” Becile seemed relieved. “This is Miss Tonia, the widow of the late Colonel Walter, and her automaton Rabbit, the one I told you would be staying with us for a time.”

“Pleasure,” Hannah said, in a way that suggested it very much was not. “This is Timothy, our boy. He’s six.”

“Oh.” Rabbit smiled weakly. “Nice to meet’cha, Tim. I’m—”

“Take care not to hurt him.”

Rabbit’s smile immediately shattered and she stared up at Hannah in alarm. “What? I’d never hurt a—”

“Good. Now, I’m terribly sorry—” (she didn’t particularly sound it, Rabbit thought), “—but Timothy has lessons to finish. Good day, Miss Tonia.” And with an inclination of the head that could barely be termed a nod, Mrs. Becile turned and led her son back through the door from which they had come.

“…Well.” Ma smoothed down her skirts, studiously avoiding making eye contact with anyone. “I think that’s enough for today. Mr. Becile, if you would be so kind as to show us out?”

“Y…yes. Yes, I think that would be best.” Becile glanced down the hall towards the door through which his wife had disappeared. “Come along, Rabbit. You can see the rest once you’ve moved in.”

As they left, Rabbit glanced despondently at the elegantly carved end tables and porcelain vases and perfect wood-paneled walls that they’d passed on the way in and sighed a heavy exhale of steam.

She was doing this for Ma. Ma needed this, this chance to get back on her feet and figure out how to provide for them both with Pappy gone. All Rabbit had to do was behave, keep her mouth shut and be a good little robot for Mr. Becile so that she wouldn’t get kicked out and become a strain on Ma before she was able to take care of herself again.

She could do that.

It would be easy, and then Ma would be proud of her and then after a couple of months Ma would take her back and everything would be all right again.

Just a couple of months.

She’d be fine.


	5. Chapter 5

Rabbit huddled beneath a cluster of evergreens, trying unsuccessfully to regulate her breathing. Though she’d been unharmed by the gunshot, the fright of it had sent her bellows off-kilter and now they were hitching uncomfortably every time she tried to inhale.

_Breathe in. Count: one, two three, f-OUR—error. Exhale. Reset. Again._

_One, two th-R—error._

_No obstruction found. Exhale. Reset._

_Again._

_oNE—error._

_Error._

_Abort._

The rain wasn’t helping either; although it was showing signs of stopping, occasional droplets still made their way down through the branches of the tree and onto the shoulders of Rabbit’s jacket or her hat, both of which were squelching miserably by this point in their waterlogged state. The burning pain in Rabbit’s back had thankfully simmered down into a somewhat duller ache, the sensitive wires giving up on sending their messages after this prolonged a period, but the jittery spasms continued and Rabbit dug her fingers into the dirt, trying to will herself to stop moving.

_Hold position._

Shudder. Twitch.

_Executive override—_ shudder _—HOLD POSITION._

Shudder. Flinch.

Twitch.

Pain.

_Stop it, please, Pappy, make it stop—_ the dirt wasn’t helping. Rabbit hesitated for half a second and then tore off one of her gloves, pressing her hand to the bark of the tree and clawing against it with the tips of her fingers.

Friction.

_Friction._

Good.

Soothing.

Calm.

…- _er_ , anyway.

Rabbit leaned her forehead against the tree, letting out a small sigh.

She had to do _something._ Find somewhere to go.

But where?

Finding Ma was out; Rabbit knew she was somewhere in San Diego, but the city was huge and finding her without an address was distressingly unlikely.

Going back anywhere in the vicinity of Becile’s house was out, and apparently begging water off of random farms in the middle of nowhere was a dead end, too. She needed to find shelter, and clean water, and preferably a mechanic, all in short order.

But where to go to find people who understood robots, or at the very least wouldn’t chase her away?

_Balboa._

Rabbit paused.

It was something the farmer had said, back in the barn: a clockwork machine, just like in Balboa.

There were others like her.

Potentially nearby.

Rabbit turned to gaze out across the field, eyes flicking over the grass and trees beyond as she frantically weighed what she ought to do.

Find them, obviously. Other robots meant people who knew how to take care of robots, and probably places where robots could live, too.

But… what if they ended up _not_ being like her after all? What if they were just like Delilah, servants to humans who were programmed to follow every order given them and not talk back? What if they tried to take Rabbit? Strip her programming and make her like that, too?

What if they made her forget about Ma and Pappy?

What if she never saw Ma again?

Rabbit sucked her lower lip into her mouth and gnawed on it for a few seconds. She couldn’t feel any pain from doing it, couldn’t taste anything, but the pressure was soothing.

She needed soothing.

Finally, she let her lip go with a soft _pop_ and straightened her back, giving a firm, if jerky, nod.

Balboa it was.

No matter how bad it turned out to be, anything was better than sitting out here rusting to death or dying of thirst.

And well, if things came down to it…

She had a really scary alarm and a fast pair of feet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's commented and given kudos. I'm glad you're all enjoying the story so far :) We're going back to the past again for this one; not too much rudeness from Becile but there's a lot of feels from Rabbit. I hope you enjoy. :)

This was it.

Rabbit rubbed her thumb anxiously back and forth along the strap of her rucksack, ignoring the way it dangled precariously off of her right shoulder. She couldn’t _really_ feel the texture of the leather the same way a human would, but the constant friction was soothing, and if she’d had a heart, it would definitely be in need of some soothing right about now. As it was, she was leaking steam, and every few seconds she’d glance around at the surrounding fields and reevaluate whether or not making a run for it would be worth the effort and probable scolding afterwards.

“Now, do you remember everything we talked about?” Ma asked her kindly, utterly oblivious to her lack of attention. “What to do if you need maintenance, have a malfunction, make a little faux pas with your hosts?”

“Yes, Ma.” There was a dense clump of trees, only a hundred or so yards from the house. Maybe if she sprinted she could get there before the humans did and then lose them before they could catch up. “Foe paw. Right.”

“And you remember that, for most people, nighttime is for _sleeping,_ not for playing music or making up games or—”

“Yeah, yeah, got it.” Rabbit rocked back and forth on her heels, hand clenching around the leather strap. What a silly rule—who would she be playing games with, here? Certainly not Miss Hannah and her haughty “don’t hurt my son” attitude. Rabbit didn’t want to get within twenty feet of her, fifty if possible.

Timothy, on the other hand…

“Rabbit, dear.” Ma tapped lightly on the ridge of her cheek to get her attention. “You’ll be just fine, you know.”

“Y-y-y-yeah, I guess.” Rabbit flashed a half smile at her and then tugged at the hem of her jacket, trying futilely to pull it down over the myriad belts she’d stacked up on top of her dress. She’d thought the belts had made her look spiffy while she was getting dressed that morning, but now she was starting to rethink that decision.

“Dear.” Ma grabbed hold of her hands and brought them down to her sides, stopping them in the middle of the path. “Stop fussing. You look fine.”

“W-w-w-w-what if they don’t like me, Ma?”

Rabbit couldn’t look at her. She hadn’t meant to ask the question—Ma had enough to worry about already without wondering if she was doing the right thing, sending Rabbit off to go live with these people—but it had been gnawing at her for weeks, now, and no amount of drilling protocols with Ma was enough to settle her wires over this.

“Why wouldn’t they like you, dear?” Ma asked. She sounded genuinely baffled.

Rabbit shrugged.

“Th-they didn’t seem to l-l-like me very much the last time I was here,” she said quietly. “An’ I wasn’t here for very long. W-w-what if they get sick of me?”

Ma was quiet for a moment, then sighed softly through her nose and began to stroke her hand up and down along Rabbit’s arm. It wasn’t very much friction, but Rabbit appreciated it anyway.

“I wouldn’t let them throw you out on the street, even if they did get sick of you,” Ma told her seriously. “Colonel Walter and I always thought of you as our child, and that means that I will always do my best to take care of you. If anything happens, if they say or do anything that worries you, send me a letter. Or tell me when I visit. I told you I’d try to come as often as I could, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Ma,” Rabbit said.

“Well then.” Ma smiled at her. “Are you ready to go inside, dear?”

Rabbit looked up at the house.

Hefted her rucksack, with its meager possessions that clinked together softly as it moved.

Closed her eyes, breathed, remembered that she was wearing Pappy’s goggles on her hat, and carried Pappy’s expertise in her veins—well, wires—and decided that Pappy wouldn’t want her to be afraid.

She was a strong robot.

And, really, what was the danger? She would have a mechanic here, someone who would know how to take care of her if something went wrong, someone who could manage her while Ma focused on getting back on her feet and finding a new place to live. Rabbit would behave, for her.

She would survive.

“Yeah, Ma,” she said with a nod, more confidently than she felt. “Let’s go.”

 

-

 

Thankfully, Becile had followed through on his word since the last time Rabbit had visited; instead of being led to the laboratory upon entering the house, Rabbit found herself being shown into a plain little room located on the second floor. It had a window, with some simple white curtains to filter out the sun, a bed with some plain white linens, and even a little nightstand and a shelf on the opposite side of the room for putting her things on.

“You can keep your clothes in there,” Becile said, pointing out the cedar chest sitting at the foot of the bed. “Terribly sorry there’s no closet, not all of the rooms have them. Meant to be a guest room, after all.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” Rabbit said. “I d-d-d-don’t have that many anyway.” She laid her bag down carefully on the floor (breakable things, careful, careful) and turned to sit on the bed, bouncing slightly to test the springs. They groaned a little bit under her weight, but they were mostly springy, and they made fun squeaky noises if she bounced in exactly the right spot.

“Ahem.”

Ma coughed a little bit, just enough to get Rabbit’s attention, and she looked up to see her fighting to hide a smile behind her hand as she gestured to Becile with her eyes.

Ah.

Not polite?

Rabbit made a quiet throat-clearing noise of her own (not that she needed to, things rarely got stuck in there) and stood again, picking up her bag to place it carefully on the bed.

“Thank you for the room,” she said in her best good-little-robot voice. “It’s very n-n-nice.”

Becile inclined his head. “You’re welcome.” He glanced over at Ma. “Miss Iris, I do hope that you’ll excuse me, but I have some experiments I need to see to in the lab. I trust you can find your way out once you’ve said your goodbyes to Rabbit?”

“Of course,” Ma said. “Don’t mind me, I’ll be heading out soon enough. Need to catch the next train into the city. And thank you once again, Mr. Becile, for being so kind as to take Rabbit in. I really do appreciate it.”

“Not a problem at all,” Becile said. “We’ll be in touch.” And with one last glance at Rabbit, he turned and left the room.

“How do you like it, dear?” Ma asked once Becile’s footsteps had retreated down the hall. “Does it look comfortable?”

Rabbit, busy removing things from her pack, merely shrugged.

“It’s okay.” Spare shirt, spare pants, melodica, music box (be _very_ careful with that)…

“Just okay?”

Rabbit looked up at her. Around the room. “Is it not okay?”

Ma smiled kindly. “No, honey, it’s just fine. A little plain, but I’m sure you’ll make it your own in time. Maybe decorate a little?”

Rabbit scrunched up her lips. (It was the closest she could come to wrinkling her nose like she’d seen Ma and Pappy do.) “ _Decorate?_ What would I decorate it with?”

“Well I’m sure I don’t know,” Ma said, with a hint of a laugh in her voice. “You’ve always been a little bit of an eccentric, Rabbit, but that’s why I love you.”

Rabbit stilled at that, one finger laid delicately across the top of the music box. “I… I love you too, Ma.”

“Oh, Rabbit.” Ma sat beside her on the bed, wrapping an arm comfortingly around her shoulders. The light pressure was soothing, and with less than a moment’s thought Rabbit leaned into her, burying her face into her hair.

It smelled sweet.

Rabbit wished she could feel how soft it actually was.

“You’ll be all right, dear,” Ma told her. “I have faith in you.” With her other hand, she began to card her fingers gently through Rabbit’s hair, stroking the side of her skull and then down to her neck. The touch was light, barely noticeable, and Rabbit leaned in harder.

“You’re steaming my hair a bit, love.”

“Oh.” Rabbit pulled back. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right, no harm done.” Ma smiled at her. It seemed a bit weaker, now. “Will you be all right if I start back for the train station now? I could stay another few minutes if you need me, but the next one won’t be for hours if I miss it.”

Something inside Rabbit’s chest momentarily jammed, then released. “N-n-n-no, Ma, that’s fine. Get on back to the house, I know ya got a lot of stuff to finish up with.”

“Thank you, dear.” Ma leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Rabbit’s forehead, then stood and brushed out her skirt to straighten it. Rabbit remained seated, music box clasped loosely in her lap.

“Will you walk out with me?” Ma asked.

Rabbit looked up at her.

She’d outstretched a hand, and tried to put on a smile, but the sadness in her eyes still managed to overshadow everything else and an acute sense of failure shot through Rabbit’s core at the sight.

Ma wasn’t supposed to be sad.

Rabbit was supposed to be strong for her. _She_ was the one who’d be suffering the most from all of this; she was the one who’d lost her husband, was about to lose her home, was currently saying goodbye to her only _child_. Rabbit had gotten off _easy._ She wouldn’t have to do anything while living here; she’d be taken care of, in a lavish house, by people who knew how to maintain robots. Ma would have to find a new place to live, a new job, and somehow save up enough money to let Rabbit come back and live with her and hire a personal mechanic besides.

Rabbit’s fingers spasmed around the music box.

Ma should have just turned her off, put her in storage to sleep until she’d managed to get back on her feet. She was too much of a burden otherwise. Maybe… maybe she ought to just turn _herself_ off once Ma had gone. Save the Beciles the trouble of having to look after her. Maybe just oil her joints once in a while, make sure her core was still humming…

“Rabbit?”

Except no. No, she couldn’t. That would just upset Ma even more, would make her feel guilty about leaving her behind. She couldn’t do that to her.

She had to be strong. For Ma.

“Y-y-y-yeah, Ma.” Rabbit forced a smile and stood, music box clutched in one hand as she took Ma’s hand with the other.

Together, they left the room and made their way silently down the hall towards the stairs, Rabbit memorizing the feel of Ma’s soft, warm hand in her own.

Together they descended, Rabbit’s eyes kept firmly on where she was placing her feet.

Together they reached the front door, and Ma stopped for a moment to look at Rabbit from arm’s length before clasping her tightly in a hug that seemed to go on and on for eternity.

Face buried in Ma’s hair for that second time that afternoon, Rabbit let her bellows hitch, but only once.

And then it was over, and the door was opening, and Ma was kissing her goodbye, and the door was closing, and Ma was walking down the long, long lane that she and Rabbit had only come up half an hour before and Rabbit was pressed against the glass of the window, one hand curled against the pane as the other cradled the music box, small and fragile, against her core.

About halfway down the path, Ma turned back around. Lifted her hand in a wave.

Rabbit waved back, the movement thankfully free of any tics.

(She could not say the same about her face.)

And then Ma turned around once more, and walked away, and Rabbit sank to the ground with her forehead pressed against her knees as she finally allowed herself to cry.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, sorry about the delay! School's been busy, as usual. I hope you enjoy the chapter. :)

“You can do this, Rabbit. You can _do_ this, Rabbit…”

Slowly, carefully, step _out_ from behind the tree—

_DangerdangerdangerHIDE._

…And promptly scurry to hide behind the next one.

Irritated, Rabbit pounded a fist weakly against the bark. This was taking way too long; she’d been at it for almost an hour, now, flitting from tree trunk to tree trunk at a more or less safe distance from the road. The rain had finally stopped, which had come as a welcome relief, but Rabbit hadn’t yet been able to shake the deep, burning fear of being seen. What if someone saw her and _knew?_ Knew that she was an escaped creation, knew that she didn’t belong out here on her own? What if they tried to catch her? What if they _succeeded?_

Her boiler gave an unhappy gurgle, and Rabbit wrapped an arm around it protectively. The water _had_ helped—there was no way she’d have managed to stay awake this long without it—but the extra debris was cutting way down on her efficiency, not to mention the fact that she just felt _dirty_ , knowing that mud and grass were caking themselves against her insides.

If she never went outside again after all this was over, it would be far too soon.

_Rattle rattle._

Rabbit froze. What was that noise?

_Rattle rattle._

It was a quiet sort of rocky rumbling, far off in the distance, low, uneven, with the staccato beat of—

_Horses._

_People._

Rabbit trembled, hands grasped tightly against the tree. What was she going to do? They might be able to help her, might be able to point her in the direction of Balboa, but what if they ended up being just like the farmer? What if they hated her, were afraid of her, tried to hurt her?

They couldn’t find out she was a robot.

Frantically, Rabbit’s eyes flicked over the ground, seeking out something she could use to hide the shine of her face. Mud? Maybe… but wouldn’t that be just as suspicious? Humans’ skin looked nothing like mud. But she had to at least cover up the silver bits, get enough dirt on top of the copper to make her look simply unwashed, if the humans didn’t look too closely.

…But the cheek vents. She couldn’t cover those; the water and gunk would drip down into her boiler, and she already had enough foreign material clogging it up. Too much more and it would stop functioning, and then she’d be as good as dead.

_Rattle rattle._

They were getting closer. Rabbit dithered, hands clenching and unclenching uselessly by her sides.

She had to do something.

Finally, with a pained grimace at the thought of what she was about to do, Rabbit knelt down and grabbed a fistful of mud from the earth by her feet. She looked at it, wet and cold in her hands, then gulped and began to slather it over herself, paying special attention to her nose and the area between her eyebrow plates.

_Closer, closer, they were getting closer, go faster, had to cover all of it, had to be safe._

She glanced up. Couldn’t see the carriage yet, good. More mud, cover the cheeks, carefully carefully, don’t want to choke. Button up the jacket as far as it goes, cover as much of the neck as you can. Have to look human. Have to survive.

The rattling was louder now. Rabbit looked down at her hands, covered in thick, watery mud, and wiped them ineffectually against the tree. Better. She couldn’t see herself, couldn’t tell how human (or non human) she looked right now, but it had to be better than it was. It had to be.

She could hear the clopping of the horses more clearly now. Two of them, smaller carriage, not heavy, not long distance. Did that mean that Balboa was nearby? Rabbit looked over her shoulder and there it was, two horses just like she’d thought, with a man in a cloak and a hat at the reins.

Should she talk to them? She would have to come out from behind the tree to do so.

_Dangerous._

Necessary.

Rabbit whined, a thin, strained sound forcing its way out of her vocal processor. Couldn’t go back, wouldn’t go back, not even if they knew Becile. She’d fight if she had to. They wouldn’t take her.

_Go._

The command felt achingly slow to execute, the gears in her legs rusty and unwilling to move. But she did it, taking first one step out from behind the tree, and then another, and another, until she was only a few meters from the road and the carriage was in plain sight.

They couldn’t have not noticed her by now.

“Hullo!” Rabbit called, waving an arm above her head. The word came out weak on the first try, so she swallowed (unnecessary, no real vocal chords to clear, no saliva to get out of the way, learned behavior, _organic_ ), and tried again. “Hello!”

The man driving the carriage glanced her way, then started in surprise and jerked the reins, slowing the carriage to a halt.

“Hello, there!” he called back, touching a hand to the brim of his hat. “Are you lost, miss?”

Rabbit’s jaw began to twitch.

_Please, please, no glitching, not now. Keep it together, Rabbit._

“A little!” Rabbit replied, trying to offer an embarrassed smile. “W-would you happen to know the way to Balboa, by any chance?”

“Yes, of course.” The man seemed a bit puzzled. “We’re on our way there right now. Are you in need of any assistance? I hope you’ll pardon me for saying so, miss, but you look quite a fright.”

“Oh, n-n-no, I—I’m fine, thank you,” Rabbit said, taking a step backwards. “I just… n-needed to know if this was the right way, and it is, so thank you very much, I’ll just be on m-my way now—”

“Dear?” asked a female voice from inside the carriage. “What’s wrong? Why have we stopped?”

“A passerby,” the man called back, his gaze kept curiously on Rabbit. “Seems to be stranded.”

This was not going at all well.

“R-r-really, I’m fine!” Rabbit insisted, taking another step back. “I-I just needed to know how to get to Balboa, I—”

There was a sharp click, and then the window in the door of the carriage opened to reveal a pale, soft-faced young woman wearing goggles high on her rounded forehead.

“There’s no need to be afraid, dear,” she said kindly after a few tense moments of her silently studying Rabbit’s face. “We’ll only be passing through Balboa, in truth, but you’re welcome to ride with us for the journey. You look like you’ve been traveling quite rough.”

Rabbit gnawed anxiously on her lower lip. “Oh, I… I don’t know…”

“Please.” The woman threw the latch on the carriage door and opened it, gesturing inside. “You’ll come to no harm, I promise.”

Rabbit hesitated a moment longer, glancing down the road to her right. Accepting rides from strangers seemed like one of those things Ma and Pappy would have warned her against, especially considering she’d be confined in tight quarters with them. There’d be no way to prevent a close scrutiny of her face, and if she exuded steam or any of her pistons fired off too loudly, the game would be up.

But… it was such a long way to Balboa, and at the speed she’d been going she’d probably need to refill her boiler once or twice more before she finally got there. And what if it rained again? What if she couldn’t find a place to fill up?

What if she got stranded somewhere, and went into emergency shutdown, and no one ever found her?

Ma would never see her again, would never know what had happened to her.

Rabbit couldn’t do that to her.

And so Rabbit looked back at the carriage, at the man with his concerned, wary expression, at the woman who continued to smile at her as if picking up a disheveled stranger off the side of the road was a perfectly normal and safe thing to do, and willed her legs to take a step forward.

And another.

And another, until eventually she was at the door of the carriage and then she was in and the woman offered her yet another smile as she closed the door and called to the man at the reins to drive on, and then the wheels began to turn and Rabbit looked out the window, vents hot and wires thrumming as she was carried away from the farms and their danger and on towards the town where hopefully, _hopefully_ , she could find someone to fix her and maybe, eventually, help her get back to Ma.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone, sorry about the delay. School's been very busy, what with thesis and essays and preparing for conferences. We have quite a few flashbacks in this chapter, and quite a lot of feels for Rabbit. I hope you enjoy.

It was evening.

The sun was setting behind the trees and Rabbit, watching it lethargically through her bedroom window, blinked slowly and unevenly as she catalogued the steady shift of one color into the next.

She’d been sitting up here for a few hours, now. Apart from the predictable creaks of an old house and the sporadic chirping of birds from outside, however, things had been mostly silent. No crackly music floating up from a gramophone, no soft exchange of voices, not even the clangs and muffled curses that often accompanied experimenting in Pappy’s laboratory.

Rabbit didn’t like it.

There had been the faint scent of what could have been food cooking a little while ago (no matter how hard Pappy had tried, Rabbit’s sense of smell had never quite managed to rival that of a human’s), but no one had ever come up to let Rabbit know that dinner was ready.

Not that she could eat it, of course. But Ma and Pappy had always made a place for her at the table, and given her a glass or two of water to drink while they talked together as a family. Rabbit wasn’t quite sure what the protocol would be here.

Well, she could at least try finding the kitchen. Maybe they were just giving her space and waiting for her to wander down on her own.

Which was a kind gesture, really, but Rabbit didn’t want to be rude. If the rest of the family was eating, she ought to be downstairs too.

And so, with some light bursts of steam from her pistons, Rabbit stretched out her legs and clambered down from the windowsill.

Now to see if she actually remembered anything from that tour.

 

-

 

“Unidentified automaton. Please provide designation.”

Rabbit jumped, startled by the unexpected address. What with how quiet the house had been, she’d been starting to think there weren’t any other living beings there apart from the humans.

Thankfully, it looked like she was wrong.

“H-hi, there,” she said as she turned around. The other robot, a tall, feminine-shaped one enameled in white and wearing a simple dark dress, tilted her head at her. “W-what’s your name?”

“I am Delilah,” the other robot replied, executing a stiff, awkward curtsey. “At your service. Reciprocation request: what is your designation, please?”

“Designation?” Rabbit frowned. “Oh, you mean my name! I’m R-Rabbit. Nice to meet ya!” Figuring she ought to make some sort of polite gesture in return, Rabbit smiled and tilted her hat just like she’d seen people do in the picture books Pappy had shown her. Delilah, however, did not smile back the way the women in the books had done. In fact… her face seemed incapable of much movement at all; her jaw seemed to be made of just one continuous plate, rather than two, and her eyebrows looked to be painted on, rather than moveable.

“Do you need assistance?” Delilah asked her.

“Oh!” Rabbit exclaimed. “Yeah, I was looking for the kitchen. Or the dining room, wherever the people would be right now.”

A quick three-tone sequence chimed and Delilah’s eyes flashed momentarily.

“Error,” she said in a flat tone. “Servants are not allowed in the dining area while the masters are eating.”

“What?” Rabbit took a step backwards. “I’m not a servant, I’m a _guest_. And whattaya mean, masters? Ain’t they your family?”

The tones sounded again.

“Error. The Rabbit unit is an automaton. Automatons are meant to serve their masters.”

“But he’s _not_ my master!” Rabbit cried. “Even if he were my Pappy, he wouldn’t be my master! I wasn’t made to serve anybody!”

Delilah looked at her blankly.

“No…” Rabbit’s eyes widened in alarm. “You don’t let them _treat_ you that way, do you?”

“That’s enough, Rabbit.”

For the second time that day, Rabbit spun around in surprise. Becile stood in the hallway behind her, polishing his spectacles with a corner of his waistcoat.

“Delilah was made with far less… sophisticated programming than yours,” Becile explained, the corner of his mouth curling unpleasantly. “As such, she is best suited to simple household tasks. She was never meant to be a… makeshift child, as you were. Suggesting otherwise to her would only confuse her. I’m sure you understand.”

Rabbit glanced over her shoulder at Delilah, who continued to stand there quietly, head tilted and face passive. She didn't even seem to be breathing.

“Y-yeah, sure…” Suddenly uncertain, she looked back at Becile. “A-are you all done with dinner, then?”

Becile raised his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you eat, as well.”

“Oh, no,” Rabbit reassured him. “Just water. But I wanted to know, for next time, where you guys all eat so I could come an’ sit with you.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Becile finished with his glasses and replaced them on the bridge of his nose. “Mealtimes are a strictly familial activity, and I intend to keep them that way. If you must take meals, or… waterings, with someone, you may use Delilah.”

“Ah… huh.” Something in the back of Rabbit’s mind niggled at her to just accept that and go, but she ignored it and pressed on. “Well, are there any times when I _can_ sit with ya? Like if you’re all sittin’ around doing non-family stuff? Or I could help you in the lab if you wanted, I did that with Pappy all the time—”

“Rabbit.” Becile was frowning again. “You’re rather fixated on this.”

“Well… what else am I supposed to do while I’m here?” Rabbit asked, a little hesitantly. “I can’t just not talk to anybody for however long it takes Ma to get herself a new place.”

“Hm.” Becile studied her pensively for a moment. “Perhaps tomorrow I could take you down to see the lab, if you’d like. _If_ you promise not to touch anything, or to tell anyone else about what you see down there.”

“Oh, y-yeah, of course!” Rabbit agreed. “Can I help?”

“We’ll see.”

“Y-y-yeah!” Rabbit beamed excitedly. Ma would have been so proud of her, already offering to be helpful to her host. “I’m r-real good at fixin’ things, I promise!”

“I said we’ll see.” Becile tilted his head. “Speaking of which, I needed to bring you down to the lab in any case.”

Rabbit’s smile faded slightly. “What for?”

“Your… mother wanted me to do maintenance on you, didn’t she?” Becile asked. “I thought I’d take a look and see how you function at baseline, perhaps do a minor tune-up if necessary. Then if anything goes wrong in future, we’ll know where to start.”

“Ah.” Rabbit didn't think she needed a tune-up, but Becile had a point. He didn’t have the background in working on Rabbit that Pappy had had; what if something got merely misaligned and Becile thought he needed to take Rabbit half apart to fix it? Best to let him look now.

Still, Rabbit wasn’t a huge fan of the idea. Despite what Ma had said about needing a mechanic, Rabbit had envisioned that as being mostly a business of tightening gears, giving her oil changes, and making sure that her joints were bending properly, rather than dealing with anything as serious as a _malfunction._ The idea of Becile poking around in her wires and gears in places where only Pappy had seen before made her uncomfortable.

But if it was what Ma was expecting…

“All right, then,” Rabbit said after a moment. “It’s a date. When d’you wanna meet?”

Becile made a face.

“I’ll come get you once I’m ready to begin,” he said, “but it’s likely not going to be until late morning. I breakfast with my family before Timothy starts his lessons.”

“Can I at least come to _breakfast?_ ” Rabbit asked. “Delilah doesn’t look like much of a morning person.”

Becile’s gaze shifted momentarily over Rabbit’s shoulder before forcibly refocusing on her; the beginnings of a laugh bubbled up in Rabbit’s boiler, but she kept her face plates resolutely steady. Humans didn't like falling for jokes, even when they were terribly funny ones.

“I’ll speak with Hannah about it,” Becile said at last, in the voice that Pappy had always used when the answer to something was going to be _no_. Rabbit tried not to let her face fall. “In the meantime, was there anything you needed before we retired for the night?”

A slightly eroded memory file loaded itself up onto Rabbit’s processor.

_“C-can I have a hug goodnight, Pappy?”_

_“It’s ‘may I’, Rabbit, not ‘can I.’ May implies permission. Can is a question of ability.”_

_“But c-can I, though?”_

_A pause._

_“Or at least can you l-leave a light on when you go? It’s so dark down here when you’re gone.”_

_Another pause._

_“Do you not go into stasis overnight, Rabbit? I programmed it to be triggered by darkness.”_

_“Oh, I do, but it takes a while, and sometimes I wake up and you’re not here. Could I_ please _have a hug, Pappy? Like the kids in the stories do?”_

_“Well… well yes, of course. Here… tell me if you feel anything from it.”_

_Hands. Arms. Gentle pressure on her chassis, on her core. Warmth (though not as warm as the inside of her boiler); pleasant._

_“Rabbit?” A gentle reminder. “It is customary for both participants to engage in a hug.”_

_Oh, right! Pappy was so smart. Carefully, so as not to startle Pappy or cut him with any unfinished edges, Rabbit lifted her arms from the worktable and laid them softly across Pappy’s back._

_Feedback weak; increase pressure. 2%... 4%... 6—_

_Oh, oh that was_ marvelous _! Rabbit could feel Pappy’s ribcage expanding as he breathed, could feel the shifting of his muscles underneath his lab coat, could even, if she concentrated very very hard, almost feel the warmth of Pappy’s breath across her face._

_She felt so warm, her boiler bubbling and her core humming in double time._

_Loved!_

_This feeling was loved!_

_“Oof—Rabbit, my dear, I do need those bones.”_

_“Oh! Sorry, Pappy.” Rabbit quickly let go and Pappy straightened himself up, brushing off his coat._

_“Was that what you wanted?” he asked, in that curious voice that meant he was about to go write pagefuls of notes in his little book._

_Rabbit nodded. “I feel much better now, Pappy, thank you. C-can you hug me every night, before I go to sleep?”_

_There was another pause, as Pappy’s mouth shifted slightly from side to side as he debated what to say. After a few moments, however, a tender smile spread across his face and he leaned forward to give an affectionate pat to Rabbit’s copper cranium._

_“Of course I can,” he replied. “And don’t worry, I’ll work on getting you out of the lab soon so you won’t have to be stuck alone in the dark anymore. Does that sound all right?”_

_Rabbit nodded again and settled herself back against the straps holding her down to the worktable. “Thank you, Pappy.”_

“Rabbit?”

Rabbit’s head twitched to the side as the memory cleared itself from her vision. “Hm?”

“I asked you if you needed anything.”

“Oh.” Rabbit frowned, glancing around the hallway. How many seconds had she lost? Delilah was no longer standing behind her, and Becile’s face looked a bit impatient. Perhaps… perhaps not the best idea to ask for a hug right now, then. Besides, Becile wasn’t Pappy, anyway. “N-no, I’m fine.”

“All right. If you need water during the night, there should be cups at all the sinks,” Becile told her. “Otherwise, goodnight, Rabbit.”

“G’night.” Rabbit watched as Becile retreated back down the hallway and disappeared through a door on the other end. The click of the latch echoed for a moment, and then all was silent once more in the house.

“Well… guess it’s time for b-bed, then,” Rabbit said to herself after a beat. The pictures on the wall merely stared silently, however, and with a heavy sigh, Rabbit turned herself around and started the lonely trek back up to her room.

 

-

 

The house was quiet.

Outside her window, Rabbit could hear the faint chirping and chittering of insects, but inside, all was still, save for her own mechanical humming. All the humans had gone to bed at least an hour ago.

Rabbit, however, wasn't tired.

Well, that wasn't quite accurate.

She could feel stasis pulling at her eyes, trying every few minutes to shut down her processor in response to the lack of light outside, but every time it happened she simply executed an override and continued to gaze quietly out the window at the darkness of the grounds. There was one light that she could make out, apart from the eerie green glow of her own eyes reflecting in the glass; most likely the stables, she guessed. Rich people always seemed to have stables.

_Light levels sub-optimal for function. Shutdown to sleep in 30… 29…_

Rabbit shook her head. _Override._

_…Override accepted._

Rabbit sighed, leaning her head against the windowpane with a quiet thunk.

It wasn't like she _needed_ to have a hug before going to sleep; she wasn't a baby robot anymore, and she’d had to get used to not getting one while Pappy was sick. (Ma had started giving her hugs instead, once Pappy had grown unable to, but their sporadic nature had made the ability to go to sleep without one a necessity.)

No, it wasn't the hug, per se. It was just that everything else was so _wrong_ —the house was wrong, her room was wrong, the colors and smells and sounds were all _wrong_. If she left her room she didn't know if a bathroom was to her left or to her right, and the lab with the table in it that she’d been born on was over an hour away and likely to be repurposed into something else entirely within the month.

_Light levels sub-optimal for function. Shutdown to sleep in—_

_Override._

_…Override accepted._

Rabbit turned away from the window, sliding down from the sill to walk to the little shelf on the other side of the room.

The music box was light in her hands, the soft brown of the wood obscured a bit by the darkness. Rabbit’s eyes glowed a little brighter to try and make up the difference.

Ma had given this to her, shortly after she’d been let out of the laboratory. A present of sorts, for “growing up,” she’d said. Rabbit hadn’t quite understood what that meant at the time, since the only reason she’d gotten any taller was because Pappy had finally made her some legs, and she wasn't even very good at using them yet. Ma had just smiled, though, and touched her face with her soft hands, and the warmth that grew in Rabbit’s boiler in response was enough to make her not care about the words.

Ma loved her, enough to give her a present, and she was happy.

_“It’s a music box,” Ma had told her as she placed it carefully in her hands. “You wind up the screw on the bottom and then when you open it up it plays a song. Try it.”_

_Curious, Rabbit peered at the underside of the box. She turned the screw (very gently—she was stronger than she realized, Pappy had told her) a couple times and then gingerly lifted the lid._

_A bright tinkling sound emanated from the box and Rabbit, startled, jerked but thankfully managed to catch the box before she dropped it._

_High valve pressure. Boiler heating. Present. Special present. Could have broken. Ma angry?_

_But Ma’s face wasn’t screwed up or red, the way that angry faces looked in the picture books. Instead her teeth were showing, and her eyes were crinkled up at the corners._

_Happy. Amused._

_“It was a bit loud, wasn’t it?” Ma asked kindly. “It’s all right. Try it again, dear.”_

_Rabbit hesitated for a moment, but after another encouraging smile from Ma, she grasped the lid between forefinger and thumb and tilted it upwards._

_She was ready for the sprinkling of music this time; as the first few notes chimed from within the box, Rabbit watched avidly as the little mechanism spun inside its glass case. How was it making those sounds? Those little metal rods were so tiny; surely they couldn’t make noise that loud?_

_“I know your Pappy hasn't installed your musical programming yet,” Ma said, “but I thought you might like to play with it anyway. It’ll be good exposure for you.”_

_“Thank you, Ma,” said Rabbit, and she meant it. It was such a lovely present, and it might even help her learn how to sing, just like Pappy wanted her to do! Ma was so thoughtful._

Rabbit brushed a thumb gently over the glossy wood of the box’s lid; it was smooth, practically no friction at all, but still soothing, in its own way. Carefully, she reached underneath the box and turned the screw, once, twice, three times. Placed it back on the shelf. Lifted the lid.

Soft, familiar notes sprung forth from the tines and Rabbit closed her eyes momentarily, feeling the by-now familiar sensation of oil backing up in her eye ducts.

She’d be all right. Ma had promised, and Ma never lied. She just had to be patient and trust her. She’d be fine.

_Light levels sub-optimal for function. Shutdown to sleep in 30… 29…_

Letting the music box continue to play, Rabbit turned to face the bed. The linens were pristine, even in this low light, much like they had been at home. (Easily dirtied but easily bleached, Ma often said, a necessity in a household with a robot for a child.) Maybe, if Rabbit tuned her vision to short-range only, she could pretend that she was back in her own room in Pappy’s house, and that Ma was just down the hall, and that everything was back to normal, at least for a night.

_19… 18…_

With a quiet sigh, Rabbit toed off her shoes and removed her hat, placing it on the bedside table so she could see Pappy’s goggles if she woke in the night. Then she unbuckled her belts, letting them fall to the floor with a sharp _clink_ , and then turned back the sheets.

_10… 9…_

Although she didn't really need the blankets (her boiler would keep her perfectly warm throughout the night), Rabbit tucked the sheet up beneath her chin and dutifully adjusted her vision until all she could make out clearly were the sheets in front of her face and the shine of moonlight reflecting off of Pappy’s goggles.

_0\. Pre-shutdown routines complete. Commencing shutdown sequence._

Rabbit’s photoreceptors dimmed and then closed, and as stasis took her, her senses faded out one by one until there was just the sound of far-off chimes in the darkness, and then...

silence.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one this time, sorry, but we're almost at Balboa! Get ready to meet some familiar faces when we come back to this timeline!
> 
> (And yes, Rabbit was being a little naive, thinking that a little bit of mud was going to keep anyone from guessing that she was a robot. She's not quite versed in the ways of the world yet. *pets*)

“So, dear stranger,” the woman asked into the silence, “what brings you to Balboa?”

Rabbit tore her gaze away from the window, valve pressure increasing slightly in her anxiety. She’d tried to avoid eye contact for the several minutes she’d been in the carriage thus far, hoping that the woman wouldn't try to engage her in conversation and catch her out in a stutter (sometimes her jaw movements didn’t quite match her speech when that happened, and that would be a dead giveaway for sure). Now that the woman had asked her a direct question, however, she couldn't just ignore her; she’d learned _very_ early on from Pappy that that sort of thing was horrendously rude to humans.

“I’m, uh… looking for a friend,” she said cautiously. “In Balboa.”

“Oh?” The woman was smiling; generally, Rabbit knew that was supposed to be a reassuring expression, but something about this particular one made her feel like she was newly made again and some nuance of human expression had gone right over her head. “And what are they like, this friend of yours?”

“I… I…” _What comparison to make? Ma? Pappy? A cowboy? A pirate??_ Rabbit had never been very good at lying. Perhaps best to be honest, then. Drawing herself up into what she hoped passed for a confident pose, she replied nonchalantly, “I d-don’t know, I haven’t met them yet. I guess I’ll just have to find out when I get there.”

“Ah, I see.” The woman made the odd sort of smile again. “I’m not sure there are very many of those where you’re going, dear.”

“What?” Rabbit’s eyes widened in alarm. “Are people n-not nice there?”

“Oh, they most certainly are,” the woman replied, her eyes positively twinkling by this point. “Nice enough to remove all of that gunk from your parts at no charge out of the goodness of their hearts, I’d imagine.”

“From my—” Rabbit felt as if her gears had stopped turning. “F-f-f-from m-m-m-my—”

Danger. _Danger_. She knew, _she knew._  Rabbit had to get out of there, get away fast before she was caught, before the woman found out who she was and turned her off and brought her back to Becile and oh, god, she never should have accepted the ride. Rabbit fumbled for the latch on the door, fingers clumsy, steam building at an alarming rate inside her boiler. She could feel it trying to rise through the vents and escape through her cheeks, but the mud had started to cake on her face and the heat remained stubbornly trapped inside.

_Temperature rising. Clear obstruction._

Oh, she would. Just as soon as she got out of this carriage and far, far away from the humans inside of it.

“Dear,” the woman repeated, eyes wide with concern as she held out an entreating hand. “Dear, it’s all right, you have nothing to fear from me. I promise it’s not my intention to harm you.”

Steam, she needed to vent steam. The emergency vents in her neck trembled, preparing to separate, but Rabbit kept them stubbornly closed. Not now, not in front of a human, and _why_ couldn't she figure out how to open the stupid latch?

“Please, stop.” The woman laid a gloved hand on top of Rabbit’s own, pulling them away from the door. “You needn’t be afraid, I swear to you, please listen.”

Rabbit looked at her, fingers curled tight and bellows heaving in a desperate bid to bring cool air to her boiler. The woman at least _looked_ sincere, but how could Rabbit trust her? She was outnumbered; the woman could order the carriage turned around at any moment, she or the man might have a weapon or some other way to subdue her hidden away somewhere—the uncertainty made her boiler gurgle as if she’d sprung an oil leak, and Rabbit hoped desperately that she wasn’t about to be sick.

“I’m truly sorry to have frightened you,” the woman said. “It was only meant to be a joke. Please believe me when I say that you have nothing to fear from me or my husband. What is your name?”

Rabbit hesitated. Then, slowly, with the barest wisp of steam escaping along with the words, the fight left her body and she whispered quietly to the floor. “…Rabbit.”

“Rabbit.” The woman smiled at her reassuringly, a kind, gentle smile like the ones Ma used to give her. Her core hummed painfully. “It’s good to meet you, Rabbit. My name is Delilah.”

Rabbit twitched in surprise, unable to stop herself. “Y-you’re a Delilah, too?”

“Too?” The woman looked perplexed. “Who else do you know that’s a Delilah, dear?”

“Oh—” Rabbit shrank back into her seat, hunching her shoulders up towards her ears. “N-n-no one, really. Just heard the name before, that’s all.” She doubted that human-Delilah would appreciate being told that she shared a name with a servant automaton. It seemed like the sort of thing that a human would take offense to.

“I see.” Delilah was quiet for a moment. “I don’t want to pry, dear, but you look to be in terrible shape. Will you be searching for a mechanic while you’re in Balboa?”

Rabbit’s head jerked slightly to the side. “Th-that was on the list.” Another small wisp of steam came out of her mouth and she looked away, embarrassed. “S-s-sorry, d’you mind if I…?”

“Not at all.”

“Th-thank you.” Eyes still averted, Rabbit let her emergency vents open at last, letting out a veritable cloud of steam that took a moment or two to evaporate into the air. “I w-wasn’t thinking, really, when I put all this gunk on my face, sorry.”

“It’s quite all right,” Delilah reassured her. “I’ve been around my fair share of steam bots, I’ll have you know. Only…” her voice took on a concerned note. “What _were_ you trying to accomplish? You’re not very camouflaged, I’m sorry to have to tell you.”

Rabbit vented a bit more steam in embarrassment.

“Oh, n-no, I wasn’t tryin’ to do that… I w-was… um…” She hesitated. Delilah had been very kind to her so far, all told, but what about when Rabbit told her what she was doing, what she was running from? Delilah was familiar with robots, she’d said as much, but that didn’t tell Rabbit anything about her attitudes towards them. What if she thought that Rabbit was nothing more than a child who had run away from their guardian and needed to be returned?

She’d fight if she had to. She was heavier than Delilah, stronger, even in her current state. The man might pose a little more of a challenge, depending on if he was armed or not, but Rabbit could probably deal with him, too. The thought made her sick to her boiler—she’d never laid so much as a finger on a human before, not even Becile when—

_Error. Redirect._

—but she would if she had to. She would.

“Rabbit, dear?” Delilah’s brows were furrowed and her mouth was scrunched, much like Ma’s would be when Rabbit was malfunctioning or otherwise ill. Had she malfunctioned without noticing? “You needn’t tell me if it distresses you so.”

“Sorry.” Rabbit drew a deep, steadying breath into her bellows and ran her sore, muddy fingers over the scuffed, muddy material of her pants. “’M not working qu-quite right, right now…”

“No, I should say not.” Delilah’s worried expression still hadn’t faded. “Are you in need of any emergency repairs, anything that can’t wait until we reach town? I’m sure Charles could manage somethi—”

“No!” Rabbit’s fingers spasmed erratically against her knees. “N-n-n-n-no repairs, I’ll b-b-be fine. I just n-need a bit of cleaning up—I got some mud in my boiler, earlier, an’ it feels really awful. B-but I can wait,” she said, as Delilah opened her mouth. “As long as it d-doesn’t take too long to get there?”

“About another hour,” Delilah replied softly. “Can you make it that long?”

Rabbit nodded. “Y-yeah, I’ll be fine." An hour was nothing. Spending it inside a warm, dry carriage with no one trying to shoot her or able to find her? Even better. "An’ th-thanks again, Miss Delilah, for p-p-picking me up. I d-don’t know if I’d have made it there walk-walking.”

The sad, slightly pitying smile that Delilah gave her then implied that no, she didn’t think she would have either. A quiet shiver passed through Rabbit’s chassis at the thought and she turned to gaze out the window once more, leaning her head against the side of the carriage door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that is exactly who you think it is.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to put more scenes into this chapter to try and catch us up a bit faster to the present day timeline, but this one was taking a while and I wanted to give you all something to read. School is quickly coming to a close, so lots of finals and projects due all at once, but I'll try to keep up the writing. And like I said, we'll be meeting the rest of SPG, finally, in the next chapter, so stay tuned :)
> 
> As usual, warnings for Becile being disrespectful to Rabbit.

“All right, Rabbit.” Becile slid onto his stool in front of the workbench, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. He’d sent for Rabbit about midmorning, much as he’d promised; the talk, if he’d even had one, with Hannah must not have gone in Rabbit’s favor. “I have the list of instructions from Miss Tonia regarding your maintenance. Most of it seems fairly straightforward—are you ready to power down?”

Rabbit scrunched up her face in distaste. She was already in a fairly bad mood from only having had Delilah for company as she filled her boiler that morning, and despite her resolution to be friendly towards her host, she wasn’t feeling all that inclined to stick to it right this minute. “Power down? I n-n-n-never did that with Pappy when he was fixin’ me—he always kept me awake so’s I could tell him if somethin’ went wrong.”

Becile’s lips pursed. “Ah. I see. Well, that’s quite all right…” He plucked a bit of paper from his pocket and spent a moment consulting it. “There are quite a few exercises listed here…” He glanced up. “Mostly coordination related?”

If Rabbit had had blood vessels, she would have blushed.

“Yeah,” she said, a little embarrassed. “I get a bit unca-a-a-alibrated sometimes. Pappy put those in there to check for when my gears get outta whack. It doesn’t happen often!” he amended hastily. “Just once in a while. They work mostly pr-r-r-retty good.”

“Rabbit,” Becile said, “did Colonel Walter purposefully program that into your speech patterns? The stuttering, I mean.”

Rabbit frowned. “Well, I dunno,” she said after a moment’s thought and fidgeting on the bench. “I wouldn’t think so. Pappy always said it was just a glitch, but it wasn’t important enough for him to bother fixing yet. He wanted to give me my musical programming first, y’know, before he started ironing out little things like that.”

“Well, I don’t know what he could possibly have been thinking,” Becile remarked. “You certainly won’t be able to sing with a stutter like that.” He glanced back down at the maintenance paper to peruse a few more lines, and Rabbit’s face creased in quiet disappointment as her back curled and her shoulders slumped.

“Oh.”

“You needn’t worry too much about it,” Becile told her. “There’s always other skills you can learn. Although, if you did want it gone I’m sure I could find the cause, given enough ti—”

Rabbit recoiled in her seat and shook her head emphatically. “N-n-n-n-no, that’s fine. I d-d-d-don’t mind having it, really.”

“Are you sure?” Becile seemed surprised. “It wouldn’t be very difficult to fix; I doubt it’s buried very far in your speech processors. I could open you up and have it done in—”

“No.” Rabbit looked down at her hands. “I don’t want to fix it. I like it.”

“Rabbit…” Becile hesitated. “I… didn’t want to say this, but, well… the stuttering. It’s rather grating on the missus, you see, and I wanted to see what I could do to try and—”

“I said no.” Rabbit moved to glare at him, but the expression only lasted a moment before melting away. _Manners, Rabbit._ “It’s m-m-m-m-my b-b-b-brain and I don’t want you fixing it. Now w-w-w-what else is there to do?”

Becile’s lips turned white as they pressed together, but he made no noise except for a tightly controlled sigh through his nose as he returned to the list.

“Top up oil and water, tighten gears, clean steam vents—”

“I can do that one,” Rabbit said sullenly. “Y-y-y-y-y-ya got an extra toothbrush I could borrow?”

“…Of course,” Becile replied. “Mention it to Delilah, I’m sure she could find one for you. Now, is there anything you’d actually like me to do?”

“…” Rabbit looked at the floor. “…Oil change, please.”

Maybe that’s why she was feeling so grumpy. What with all the commotion over Pappy and the move, she hadn’t gotten a good oil change in a couple of months now. Mostly just top-ups here and there. It was probably all dirty and grating on her gears by this point.

Maybe all she needed was a good cleaning inside and out, and then she’d be back to her normal old self again.

As Rabbit watched Becile move to unbutton her vest, however, she couldn't quite shake the feeling of _wrong_ she got at seeing someone besides Pappy working on her. And even Pappy had stopped manhandling her very early on, making sure to ask Rabbit’s permission whenever it was feasible to do so.

Somehow, Rabbit didn't think that was going to be a feature of this particular relationship.

“M-m-maybe I could do that myself,” she blurted out as Becile pushed aside the two halves of the vest and prepared to start on the shirt underneath. Becile paused for a moment, then looked up at her.

“Rabbit,” he said slowly, “did Colonel Walter build you with any parts that I am unaware of?”

Steam poured out of Rabbit’s cheeks and she could no longer meet Becile’s eyes.

“N-no,” she said, wrapping her arms protectively around her core. “It’s only… only…” She looked a little desperately around the lab, searching for something to dispel the tension. “It’s just a little fast, y’know?”

The joke was weak, she knew, and Becile, predictably, did not laugh.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, and returned to the buttons. “Now, the papers indicated that your oil reservoir is on your right side. Approximately five quarts, correct?”

Rabbit huffed out a little more steam. “Yeah. An’ be careful with openin’ up my stomach, would ya? It’s ticklish.”

Becile paused again to stare at her.

“Ticklish?” he repeated after a moment. “Colonel Walter made your sensory receptors that sensitive?”

“W-well yeah,” Rabbit replied, shifting uneasily. “Not _everywhere_ , though, just in important places. He w-wanted me to be able to feel things just like people do.”

“I see.” Becile’s face looked pensive. “And do you?”

That was a strange question. “I dunnnno,” Rabbit replied defensively. “I don’t really have anythin’ to compare it to, now do I? Now are we gonna do my oil or not?” The sooner she could get off this bench and back up to her room, the better. The way Becile kept eyeing her plates was making her boiler work almost double time in anxiety.

“Yes, yes, of course… Hold still for a moment while I grab the can.” Becile rose from his seat to rummage around among some supplies on a nearby shelf, and as he did so, Rabbit hurriedly undid the rest of the buttons herself and pulled the shirt aside to expose her oil port.

Ten minutes. That's all it would take for Becile to drain out the old oil and pour in the new. Maybe fifteen at most, since he wasn’t familiar with Rabbit’s systems.

She could deal with fifteen minutes.

Couldn't she?

“Ah, thank you.” Becile retook his seat in front of Rabbit, eyeing the copper “skin” appraisingly. “Superb craftsmanship. I can hardly see any seams.”

“Th-th-thanks,” Rabbit replied, slightly awkwardly. “I’m sure Pappy would be glad to know you approve. Here, lemme open that for you.” She flipped the tiny latch hidden between two panels on her side and a small, square section of metal opened up to reveal a small, gently undulating tank with two ports, labeled simply _in_ and _out._

“Fascinating.” Becile leaned down to peer inside the opening. “It seems to function much like a human circulatory system, except centered in the approximate location of the kidneys, rather than the chest.” He glanced up at Rabbit. “Presumably due to the location of your blue matter core, correct?”

Rabbit squirmed, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “M-m-maybe? I n-never asked Pappy why he put things where he did, I just went with it. Not much of a choice, you know.”

“Ah.” Becile seemed slightly put out. “Well, that's perfectly all right. Now, then. The papers say I drain and pour simultaneously, correct?”

“Y-yeah.” Rabbit twitched as Becile began to untwist the cap on the _out_ port, the alert system sending ticklish flashes of electricity up her spine. “It’ll, uh. Cycle through, it’ll take a few minutes. You m-might lose a bit of oil when the clean stuff comes back around, but it’s n-not good for me to not have any.” The old oil began to drip out, spattering darkly into a pan that Becile had set out to catch it, and Rabbit grimaced at the thick, sludgy texture of it.

Yes, an oil change had definitely been necessary.

“All right, pouring the new oil in now,” Becile told her. Rabbit jerked slightly in surprise—she hadn’t even noticed Becile unscrewing the top port. Then the new oil was coming in, and she could immediately feel the difference.

It was a bit cold, not having warmed up to her internal temperatures quite yet, but as it made its way through her cogs and parts, Rabbit could feel a noticeable release of tension that had her almost sagging on the table.

How long had it been since she’d been running this smoothly? She couldn't even remember anymore. Not since Pappy had gotten ill, certainly.

“Oh, blast.”

Rabbit looked up, startled, to see Becile avidly studying something on her face. “W-what, what is it?”

“You’ve sprung a leak,” Becile grumbled. “In your optics, of all places. I don’t suppose you’d let me take a look at that either, would you?”

“O-o-o-o-oh.” Rabbit touched a finger to her eye and it came away wet, but mostly clear. Had the new oil really gotten that far already? “Oh, no, that’s fine. That, um. Happens sometimes.”

Becile sighed and returned to his pouring. “Full to the brim with malfunctions, aren’t you? Was Colonel Walter planning on fixing any of these before he took ill?”

Rabbit’s boiler grew hot and a burst of steam billowed angrily from her cheek vents.

“They’re n-n-n-not _malfunctions!_ ” She insisted, hating the way her voice chose that moment to stutter over the words. “There’s n-n-nothing wrong with me! Pappy _made_ me this way!”

“Then I seriously question his judgment,” Becile replied. “Now hold still, I’m almost done.”

Rabbit fumed quietly, steam pouring from her cheeks as she settled back against the table, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

How dare Becile suggest that Pappy had done a subpar job on Rabbit? He’d managed to create a living, breathing (some of the time, anyway) automaton who could think for itself and run circles (literally and figuratively) around that stupid, primitive-AI Delilah. Pappy had created something conscious. Becile hadn’t. And if Rabbit had to deal with some occasional glitches to make up for that, well… She would take that any day over being a pre-programmed servant to people like Becile and his wife.

“There we go,” Becile said at last. “Five quarts, as promised. And hardly any oil wasted, I do appreciate that.”

“Uh-huh.” Rabbit resisted the urge to wiggle impatiently while Becile screwed the caps back onto her oil port, and then hurriedly slapped the panel closed as soon as Becile’s hands were out of the way. “Th-th-thanks for that, appreciate it, I’ll b-be in my room if anybody needs me.”

“Oh? I thought you wanted to stay and watch me work?” Becile asked as Rabbit hopped off of the bench and straightened her clothes. The buttons were a little lopsided, but that didn't matter. She could fix them back in her room.

“N-nah, not this time,” Rabbit said. “Maybe tomorrow.” Becile was still eyeing her speculatively, his gaze making Rabbit acutely and uncomfortably aware of every miniscule rotation of her joints. “I’ll just, ah. Get goin’. Thanks again.”

And with that she beat a hasty retreat from the lab, steam puffing in anxious bursts from her cheeks the entire way upstairs.

Never again. She didn't care if it would make Ma upset with her, didn't care if it was the entire reason for her being here that she was throwing down the drain. Becile was never going to touch her again. It wasn’t safe. And after what he’d said about Pappy…

Rabbit collapsed onto her bed with a groaning of springs and removed her hat to stare at the goggles longingly.

Pappy would have understood. He’d never liked Becile. Now Rabbit could see why.

With a quiet sigh, Rabbit leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the goggles, closing her eyes and humming a few tentative notes before cutting off power to her voice box in disgust.

Never again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, people! I'm really sorry this ended up taking a month- what with finals and two graduations, life has been hugely busy. But now I'm done with college! Huzzah! (I'm also still reeling from getting to see SPG at the Steampunk World's Fair last weekend. It was an amazing concert, and I got a piece of fanart signed, so it was a fantastic weekend all around ;-; )
> 
> In any case, this scene still isn't done, but since the chapter had gotten so huge I figured I'd give you all this first part since it'd been so long since I'd updated. Whether we go back in time again next chapter remains to be seen. I hope you guys enjoy!

“Rabbit, dear?”

Rabbit jerked awake out of low-level stasis, photoreceptors darting around the interior of the carriage frantically in search of threats. ( _Unfamiliar location. Unfamiliar olfactory stimuli. Unfamiliar human. Un—_ )

Oh. Delilah. Balboa.

Data from the last few hours began to filter back into conscious awareness and Rabbit relaxed slowly, sinking back into the padded seat with a sigh.

“Are you all right?” Delilah asked her. “How’s your boiler?”

Rabbit checked her internal diagnostics. Energy efficiency was way down, making her feel a little sluggish, but otherwise she was mostly okay. Needed a good, long bout of stasis, though.

“’M fine.” She forced himself to sit a bit further upright, resisting the urge to rub at her eyes and yawn just like a human would do. It wouldn’t fix anything, and at best it would look strange to Delilah. “Just tired.”

“I see.” Delilah’s eyebrows were creased again in worry. “I just wanted to tell you that we’re pulling in to Balboa now, dear. We’ll be stopping for a bit to rest the horses and pick up some things, and then I’ll direct you to the mechanic I was talking about, if that’s all right.”

“Mm… yeah.” Rabbit glanced out the window, anxiety suddenly churning in her boiler as she saw the sheer number of _people_ passing by outside the carriage. “Miss Delilah… D-do people here know, um. Know who makes robots?”

“They know several,” Delilah replied with a frown. “The most prominent company in the area is, of course, Moreau Robotics, but there are several smaller manufacturers that do trade in Balboa. Are you not from one of them?”

_Several_ manufacturers. Rabbit felt herself begin to breathe a little easier as she shook her head no. That meant she had a chance, then; if Becile wasn't the only other person making robots in and around San Diego, then Rabbit wouldn't be painting a target on her own back simply by showing her face without an owner. “I’m, um. One-of-a-kind, if you get my meanin’, Miss Delilah. My creator didn’t make any more.”

“Ah.” Delilah studied her for a moment, expression thoughtful. “Well, don’t worry that your construction will pose any problems; Michael Reed is a fine repairman, and well able to handle any bot I’ve sent him over the years. I’m sure he’ll do just fine with you.”

The carriage made one final, gentle turn, and then at last slowed to a stop in front of a building with a tattered and dusty _Saloon_ sign hanging in the corner of the window.

“This is where we leave you, I’m afraid,” Delilah told her. “But don’t worry, if anyone gives you trouble, just tell them that Delilah sent you to find Mr. Michael Reed. He ought to be in the saloon around this time—the Steam Man Band plays there in the evenings.”

Rabbit’s head tic’ed to the side. “The what, now?”

A wide smile spread across Delilah’s face. “Go on in and see.” And with that, she unlatched the door to the carriage, stepped out and with a final wink was gone.

Rabbit remained in her seat for another moment, electricity tingling distantly in her fingertips. From the outside, the faint murmur of conversation filtered in, interspersed with the splashing of wheels through puddles and the occasional whinny of a horse.

All normal. Safe.

Was it safe? Pappy had always talked about taking Rabbit into town to show her the shops and the sights, but they’d never managed to plan an excursion before Pappy had taken ill. There had been too many adjustments to make, too many lessons to learn about appropriate public behavior.

Rabbit had been too afraid.

She was too afraid now.

Intermittent groups of humans passed obliviously by the door of the carriage, only sparing the barest of glances for what was inside before continuing on their way. Rabbit shrank back in on herself and away from the door as the sense of tingling in her hands intensified. How were people going to react to her? She doubted that anyone would pull a gun on her in the middle of a busy street, but what about once she was inside the saloon? What if she didn’t manage to find this Michael Reed and ended up wandering the streets in the darkness because no one would help her? What if—what if—wh—

A loud gurgle emanated from Rabbit’s boiler and several gears in her chest stalled in response, one even clicking backwards several pegs before resuming. There was a corresponding _tic_ in her processor, and then her chassis gave an involuntary shudder as her systems tried valiantly to compensate. The whole thing only took about two seconds to resolve, but it left Rabbit pressing a hand against her chest in pain and fear at the utter wrongness of the sensation.

…She had to go in, no choice about it now. If she didn't, she might not even _be_ _able_ to wander the streets by nightfall.

Time to be brave.

Carefully wiping away some of the mud that had crusted itself onto her cheek vents, Rabbit stood and made her way over to the door of the carriage. Her hands tightened into fists once, twice, and then she forced one leg to extend, and then the other, until suddenly she was standing on the street in front of the saloon, in broad daylight, with crowds of humans all around and nowhere to hide.

…Nobody was staring at her.

Oh, some people looked her way, certainly. Glanced at her as they stepped around her, some even muttering under their breaths about people (people!) taking up valuable space on the sidewalk. But there was no pointing, no laughing, no frightened or perplexed expressions on their faces—well, perhaps a few of the latter, but that might just be due to the fact that she was standing there dumbly, covered in mud and looking about like she hadn’t the faintest clue of where she was.

Which she did.

More or less.

Rabbit shook herself (carefully, she didn't want any more pieces falling off) and looked up at the saloon.

Delilah had told her to go in.

She ought to go in.

If she wanted to survive to see Ma again, she absolutely needed to go in.

_…You can do this, Rabbit._

A sharp burst of steam forced its way out through the gaps in the mud, and Rabbit, heaving a heavy sigh, forced herself into motion once again to step forward into the dimly-lit saloon.

…And smack-dab into the middle of a concert.

A concert being put on by a tall (very tall!), silver, shining, _automaton._

Rabbit stared.

“Is there such a thing as too much of a good thing?” the automaton sang, his deep voice vibrating the sensors in Rabbit’s ears and sending tingles sparking down her spine. “I ask myself that everyday.”

With hardly a sound from his gears, he spun smoothly on his heel and tipped his hat elegantly to a human woman at the bar whose cheeks flushed as she smiled back.

“That is, until the weekend comes and the sun has gone away to sleep—then there’s only one thing on my mind…” The automaton winked. “That's right.”

And then, in a motion so smooth that Rabbit was left blinking in amazement at the mechanics of it, he swept the woman into the middle of the floor where a space had been cleared for dancing and the strains of a guitar picked up from somewhere on the other side of the room.

“Me and my baby love Saturday nights,” the robot continued to sing as the two of them spun, his deft mechanical fingers gripping the woman’s arms and torso with just enough strength to lead but not injure. Rabbit watched in avid fascination as the woman laughed in delight, folding backwards into a deep, careful dip before being lifted back up and spun out once more.

Wasn't she afraid? At all? That she’d be dropped, or that the robot would glitch and close his fingers too hard and poof, there’d go her arm? She didn't even seem to be terribly concerned that it was a robot she was dancing with, and not another human being, or that he was touching her and smiling at her in such a casual manner. Perhaps they worked together, Rabbit thought, and this was just part of the show. Yes, that made sense.

Except…

The way they were looking at each other.

She’d seen that before.

The day Pappy had bought Ma a gramophone, to celebrate a year of being together—he’d turned it on, and when the crackly music had started flowing Ma had got such a watery look in her eye, and then Pappy had swept her up into his arms and they’d looked at each other, eyes all close and noses almost touching, and that picture in Rabbit’s brain could almost be a perfect overlay to this automaton and his…

Girl?

Rabbit’s oil began to pump a little faster. Is that what this was? A human and a—

No.

No way, that wasn’t possible.

That wasn’t _allowed_.

Robots weren’t—

Why would a human—

Rabbit took a step backwards, preparing to flee, but before she could turn around her chassis bumped into someone standing behind her and she jerked in surprise.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I—” She tried to correct, shifting her weight forward again, but her stiff hip was having none of it and firmly locked in place. Her torso, however, caught between the conflicting commands of _turn_ , _forward,_ and _back_ , jolted out a compromise between all three, and Rabbit was sent careening to the floor with a crash that had the entire room staring in silent shock in her direction.

Whoever was playing the guitar hastily cut it off.

“Hey, are you okay?” The person she’d bumped into knelt by her side, hands hovering carefully over her clothes. “Can you get up?”

Rabbit could only twitch in reply. Almost nothing was responding to her commands, not even her voice box; the relays to and from her processor must have finally blown as a result of all the water trickling into her systems. Desperately, she creased her brow plates at the man, puffing out her lower lip a little in the hopes that that would be answer enough.

“Michael?” the man called out, thankfully taking the cue. “Could use some help over here!”

“On it!”

Rabbit’s neck wasn’t able to move much more than an inch or so to either side, but in her peripheral vision she could see another pair of feet approaching from the other side of the room, which quickly became a pair of knees, and then a friendly, if concerned, face peering down to meet her eyes.

“Good, you’re awake,” the young man said. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you back up in a minute. Spine?” He straightened up, turning back to face someone Rabbit couldn’t see.

“On it, Michael.”

Rabbit’s chassis gave another involuntary shudder. The singing automaton! His name was Spine?

There was the heavy _thud_ of robotic feet making their way across the wooden floorboards and then the automaton’s silver face came into view over Michael’s shoulder.

“All right, everyone, please clear some room,” he said. “Jon, could you go into the back and grab Michael’s toolkit?”

“You bet!” another voice chirped from the bar, but Rabbit could see only a flash of golden metal skin darting behind the crowd before it was gone.

_Two_ automatons. Performing? For humans? Were they AI, too, then, or robots like Rabbit?

“I know it’s probably scary,” Michael was saying, crouching down again to stay within Rabbit’s field of view. “But don’t worry, I fix robots for a living. You’re gonna be okay.”

“M-m-m-mmm—” At least her voice was working again, to an extent, but nothing else was. Rabbit wanted desperately to open her mouth; the sudden fall had dislodged some of the gunk in her boiler, and if she didn’t get upright again soon, she was definitely going to be sick.

“It’s okay,” Michael repeated. He looked back up at Spine. “Where is he, it can’t take that long to—”

“Here you go, Michael!” The sprightly golden bot reappeared, pushing his way carefully through the crowd with a large metal box in tow. For a moment, despite her current predicament, Rabbit marveled at the agility of his movements. If Rabbit had tried to coordinate all of those articulations even _before_ she’d been out in the rain for a day, she would definitely have given herself a short. This little bot, however, managed to squeeze between bodies and under arms without a hint of a problem and then at last knelt in one, fluid motion by Michael’s side, the toolkit brandished with both hands.

“Thanks, Jon.” Michael gestured for the automaton to lay the toolkit down and then glanced back up at the crowd still gathered around. “Really, people, give us some room. Or, you know what would really be great—”

“I’ve got it, Michael.” Spine held up his hands and began corralling the humans backwards. After watching him for a few moments to make sure people actually stayed away, Michael returned his attention to Rabbit.

“Okay, this shouldn’t take too long at all,” he said reassuringly. “It looks like a simple communication glitch. I’m just going to jumpstart the connections and wipe out the old commands, okay? Blink if you understand me?”

She could still do that, at least. Rabbit gave two strong blinks, the metal of her eyelids clinking lightly together, and Michael smiled.

“Good.” He turned to rummage around in his toolkit, and Rabbit glanced up at Jon. The golden automaton’s eyes were fixated on her face, the glowing blue piercing in its intensity. Rabbit shuddered and looked away.

“Here we go.” Michael held up a tiny device that resembled, oddly enough, a human ribcage and spine. “This is a really tiny magnet and a transmitter wire. I’m going to attach it to the back of your neck. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you, it’s just going to serve as a sort of bridge for the signals until the magnet manages to wipe the corrupted commands. Is that okay?”

Rabbit blinked again—not that she had much of a choice in the matter. The idea of a magnet anywhere near one of her processors, however minor, sent a shiver through her chassis, but she knew it had to be done.

Michael must have noted her fear; as he leaned over Rabbit to place the device, he laid his other hand comfortingly on the back of Rabbit’s shoulder.

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s not ideal. But it should only take a few seconds. I’ll take it off as soon as I can, okay?”

Rabbit let out another staticky hum in agreement and closed her eyes. There were a few moments of near-silence, in which she could faintly feel Michael’s fingers sliding along the plating of her neck and hear the low hum of the other two robots in the background, and then—

The magnet c-licked.

At fffirst, nothing happened. Well, there wwas a liiiiittle bit of pressure on the back of her neck—was that _wires_ being pulled?? Aand then the pressure was a little more aCUTE and Rabbit felt like she needed to ITch, except robots didn’t itch, and she could feel her face screwing up against the sensation.

“Good,” Michael soothed her. “You’re doing fine.”

Rabbit didn’t FEEeel fine. The processor in her neck was sending her strange little feedback loops—turn/back/forward/back/TURN/forward/corrrrrect position—and the hydraulics in her limbs were twitching minutely in response in an attempt to keep up with the ever-revolving commands.

“Good,” Michael said again. “Almost done. Just a few more seconds.”

The pressure was almost unbearable. It felt as though someone were trying to pulllll out her wires through her neck, and all of the connections in her body were being unhooked from their anchoring points. Rabbit’s back arched, ever so slightly, a high-pitched whiiiiiiiine growing inside her voice box, and then suddenly, as if she were a puppet with its strings cut, all of her limbs went slack at once and then the pressure was gone, the magnet was off, and her bellows were heaving to cool down her suddenly overheated systems.

“Are you all right?” Michael asked her, a note of concern in his voice. He pressed a hand against Rabbit’s forehead, her skull, the back of her neck—checking for heat, Rabbit supposed.

“I’ve b-been better,” she joked weakly. “C-c-can I sit up, now?”

“Yeah, of course,” Michael said. “Jon, help me?”

With the golden bot holding one arm and Michael the other, they managed to prop Rabbit up against one of the tables on the edge of the dancing space, a chair on either side to help keep her upright.

“Th-th-thanks,” Rabbit managed. The queasy feeling in her boiler hadn’t entirely abated, but it was better now that she was no longer lying down. “Do y-y-y-you have my hat?”

Michael looked around.

“Right here,” he said, and picked it up, dusting it off and setting it down again on Rabbit’s head. “Is anyone here with you…?”

“Rabbit,” Rabbit said. “And nnnnno, not really. Miss Delilah took me here and told me to find a Michael Reed who fixes robots. That’s y-you, isn’t it?”

Michael’s eyebrows shot up.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he said slowly. He looked like he was about to go on, but then he glanced around the room at the other robots and the handful of humans still being held back by Spine.

“…You know what?” Michael asked. “Let’s get you to the workshop. We can get you fixed up and talk some more, okay? Can you walk?”

Rabbit rocked back and forth, testing her hip joints. They rolled more or less smoothly, as did her ankles, and her knees when she tried bending them. So long as her legs held her weight when she finally stood up, she should be fine. “I think so.”

“Great.” Michael turned around. “Spine—”

“On it, Michael.” Spine tipped his hat cordially at the few remaining humans, then neatly sidestepped around them and out the door.

“Doesn't say much, does he?” Rabbit asked, rocking again in preparation to stand up.

Michael smiled. “You’d be surprised. Here, let me help.” And together with the golden bot, he helped pull Rabbit upright and maneuver her towards the door.

“Did Delilah say if she was staying in town long?” Michael asked as they exited the saloon, keeping a careful hand hovering behind Rabbit’s back. While Rabbit appreciated the gesture, it made her uneasy. She knew how heavy she was; if she fell, Michael wouldn't be able to do a damn thing and would most likely just get hurt.

“Nah,” she replied, shifting a bit closer to Jon. “She w-was just passing through, she said.”

“Ah.” Michael seemed almost disappointed for a moment, then threw Rabbit a curious look. “Did something in your brain get jarred loose? Or were you talking like that before?”

Rabbit looked down. “I’ve al-always talked like this. I’m not broken.”

“I never said you were.” The next few moments passed by in a slightly awkward silence as Michael studied the houses they were passing, then pointed one out. “That’s where we’re going.”

Rabbit lifted her eyes from the dusty road to scrutinize the building. It was a dull and faded brown, two-stories, with faded red shutters on the wide windows that looked as if they’d been repainted white far too many times. Spine was leaning against the door, his shining silver “skin” glinting in the afternoon sun peeking through the clouds.

“Everything’s all set up, Michael,” Spine informed them once they got closer. “Your tools are laid out and the slab is locked.”

“Great, thank you, Spine.” Michael opened his mouth to say more, but Jon, who had been remarkably quiet thus far, burst in.

“The _slab?_ ” he asked, aghast. “What do you need _that_ for? Is she—” he trailed off, glowing blue eyes wide as he lifted golden fingers to his mouth. “Is she _broken?_ ”

“No, she’s not broken,” Michael reassured him. From his tone of voice, Rabbit wondered if Jon overreacting was a common occurrence. “She’s walking just fine, see? Not broken.”

“But she fell over earlier.”

“That was just a malfunction, Jon. She’s going to be okay.”

“But that means she isn’t okay _now._ ”

“Jon…” The argument continued as they entered the workshop, leaving Rabbit to slide behind them as they talked and study her surroundings. From the inside, the shop was actually rather beautiful; the second floor had been mostly removed, allowing the light from the upper windows to filter down to the first floor. Dust motes danced in the beams, and weak sunlight gleamed on the metal forms and tools lining the walls. Rabbit took one look at them, though, and had to suppress a shudder.

It’d been a long time since she’d been in a workshop or lab.

Spine fell into step beside her, green eyes politely curious.

“Feeling all right?” he asked. Rabbit shrugged, looking back down at the floor.

“Y-yeah,” she said. “Just peachy.”

Spine tilted his head.

“I can hear your boiler from here,” he said. “You don’t sound well.”

Rabbit scrunched up her lips. “Yeah,” she said again. “There’s mud in there. And probably some grass and stuff. Need to get that out.”

Spine looked appalled. “What did you eat that for?”

“I didn’t _want_ to,” Rabbit complained. “Why would I eat all that on purpose?”

“Ask the Jon,” Spine said. “Michael has to clean out his insides at least once a week because of his ‘curiosity.’”

“I like sandwiches,” Jon—or _the_ Jon, rather—said mournfully. “The bread feels nice on my teeth.”

Spine gave Rabbit a look that said _now do you see what I go through every day?_ and proceeded to take Michael’s toolbox, laying it on a worktable beside the slab. “Will you need any assistance, Michael?”

“Let’s see what’s wrong with her, first,” Michael said. He turned to Rabbit. “Can you hop up here for me?”

“S-sure…” Eyeing the table with more than a little trepidation, Rabbit turned around and pulled herself up, arms trembling a little as her hydraulics strained. That little detail didn't escape Michael, whose brows immediately drew together in concern.

“Are your limbs not getting enough power?” he asked, reaching for his toolbox. “What’s your energy efficiency right now?”

“28%,” Rabbit replied automatically*. “But it’s falling. There’s… a lot of gunk in there.”

“I see,” Michael said. “Well, don’t worry, we’ll clean you up and get you some fresh water soon. In the meantime, do you have any injuries I should know about? Any diagnostic tests you’re used to?”

Rabbit’s fingertips tingled.

“N-not so much _injuries_ ,” she said, carefully avoiding everyone’s eyes. “Probably got some water damage, though, from being outside—I’ve got some cracks, here an’ there. An’ my hip sticks a bit. I think the rest of me is workin’ fine.”

“And the tests?” Michael asked, jotting some notes down on a pad. “Anything you normally run to test function?”

Rabbit glanced over at the other robots. Spine—or was he _the_ Spine, too?—was still laying out Michael’s tools along the worktable, only occasionally looking back Rabbit’s way. The Jon, on the other hand, was practically hovering over Michael’s shoulder, his entire posture practically oozing anxiety. Rabbit didn’t quite understand—they’d just met, why was he so nervous?—but at the same time, she supposed it felt a little nice to be cared about.

“There’s some coordination ones,” she offered. “I used to do those all the time.”

“All right,” Michael said. “How about you go through some of those for me? Touching fingers to thumb and all that?”

Rabbit’s eyes darted over to the other robots again. “I-I-I-I d-don’t know—”

“It’s okay,” Michael reassured her. “We’re not going to judge you if you can’t. I just want to see if something’s wrong so we can get you fixed up. Here, just copy me.” He held up his right hand and then slowly touched his thumb to his pinky. “Can you do that?”

Rabbit resisted the urge to glance over at the robots one more time, then nodded and looked down at her hands. She’d done this exercise many times before with Pappy. It couldn’t be that hard.

“Without looking, Rabbit,” Michael reminded her.

“Oh. Right.” Doubt began to spark in her core, but Rabbit ignored it and closed her eyes. Still not hard.

Except, when she moved to bring her fingers together, the pad of her thumb only managed to brush the side of her pinky.

The side of her ring finger.

The middle.

“Hm,” Michael said.

“Is she okay?” the Jon asked. “Is she broken?”

“She’s definitely not broken,” Michael said, sending a rush of relief through Rabbit’s core. “But she _is_ a little bit out of tune. In a manner of speaking.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael said. “It’s probably just an easy fix to the gears in her hands. D’you wanna take your gloves off so I can have a look?” This last bit was directed at Rabbit, who promptly froze and pulled her hands in protectively towards her chest.

“D-d-d-d-do I hafta?” she asked.

The others quieted. The Spine’s eyes narrowed slightly as if in thought, and Rabbit tried to resist the urge to pull her lower lip into her mouth again.

“Well—” Michael’s brows furrowed. “It’d… be a bit difficult to look at your hands otherwise. Is something the matter with them?”

Rabbit’s eyes flicked over again to the other robots, mouth twisted and eyebrow plates creased in worry. Michael, maybe, she could deal with. Michael was a mechanic. He fixed things, fixed robots. But the others…

“Hey, Jon, whaddaya say we go back to the saloon?” the Spine suggested suddenly. “Leave Michael to his work.”

“But I wanna see if Rabbit’s gonna be okay!” the Jon protested.

“Don’t worry about that,” Michael said. “It’s a really easy fix, I promise. How about I come and find you guys when it’s done? We could get Rabbit some ice cream, if you want. I doubt she’s had that before.”

The Jon’s eyes lit up.

“Never had ice cream?” he exclaimed. “Oh, but it’s so delicious! That’s horrible, really.”

“Well, let’s go and find some for her, then,” the Spine said, laying a herding arm around the Jon’s shoulders and steering him towards the door. “Maybe Brianna has some leftover from last week.”

“All right… Bye, Rabbit! I hope your gears are fixed soon!”

And with a final cheery wave, the two robots left the workshop and Rabbit was alone under the thoughtful gaze of her new mechanic.

“ _Are_ you actually gears?” Michael asked after a few silent moments.

“Y-yeah,” Rabbit said. “What else would I be?”

Michael shrugged. “Spine’s made out of some proprietary new tech that Moreau Robotics came out with recently. Almost zero traditional systems in him. I’m one of… maybe five people that know how to work on him? Definitely the only one who’s had actual experience doing it. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask, since I don’t know what company you came from.”

“Oh.” Rabbit looked down. “I’m n-n-not from a company. My Pappy made me.”

“Oh?” Michael seemed interested. “I didn’t know there were independent engineers making robots around here. What’s his name?”

Rabbit fidgeted.

“His n-n-n-name… _was_ Peter Walter. Colonel Walter, really. He, um. Died recently.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Michael paused. “Is that why Delilah brought you here? Because he died?”

Rabbit grimaced. “It’s… c-c-complicated. D-do you… do you need to see my hands?”

“If you want me to recalibrate them, then yes,” Michael said gently. “I promise, it’s okay, whatever they look like.”

Rabbit hesitated, twisting her fingers together nervously. “An’ y-y-y-you won’t tell the others?”

“I promise, I won’t tell,” Michael said. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

A long, quiet minute passed in which Rabbit let that sink in as she chewed her lower lip pensively. Then, at last, she looked down at her hands and began to peel away the left glove.

As her fingertips were revealed, Michael sucked in a short breath through his teeth. Rabbit couldn’t blame him; the caps on the ends of her fingers had been crushed, the metal buckled in over itself and dented in several places with open gaps leading in to the sensory wires. To an engineer, they probably looked a fright.

“That’s definitely more than just a gear problem,” Michael murmured. “Can I take a look?”

Wordlessly, Rabbit averted her eyes and held out her hand.

“Thank you.” Michael took it gingerly. “Does it hurt right now?”

Rabbit shrugged.

“I need an answer, please,” Michael said. “If you’re not made to feel pain at all then that’s fine, but if you can and it hurts before I’ve even done anything, that means there’s probably more serious damage than I thought. Can you feel pain?”

Rabbit winced.

“I… can,” she said quietly. “But it’s fine now. J-just tingly.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Michael studied her hand from a few different angles, turning it gently as needed. “I think I’m gonna need to take the caps off. Do you want me to turn off feeling to your hand first?”

Rabbit looked up at him in surprise. “You can do that?”

Michael frowned. “I’m pretty sure I can—most automatons I’ve worked on have that capability. Did your creator never turn you off when he worked on you?”

“Well, yeah, if he was doin’ somethin’ serious,” Rabbit said. “But then he’d just shut me off all the way. Like goin’ to sleep. He never just turned off one bit of me at a time.”

“Hm.” Michael’s lips tightened slightly but he said nothing as he returned to his perusal of Rabbit’s hand and wrist. “There ought to be a switch, or a plug or something that does it… can you open up your forearm for me? Your casing’s really smooth on the outside.”

“Pappy wanted me to look hu-hu-human,” Rabbit said quietly, undoing the tiny latch that would open up her forearm panel. “Everythin’s on the inside, just like you.”

Michael glanced up at her, expression suddenly thoughtful.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I guess you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * So I did some research, and apparently steam engines were often only 40% efficient or so? So this percentage isn't quite as terrible as it sounds.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We return to where we were at the end of last chapter, and also see a little bit more from Rabbit's time with Becile.
> 
> This chapter wasn't quite as long as I wanted it to be: I was originally planning for us to have another scene with Michael and the other bots, but then I realized I had a bit more planning to do before I could finish that scene satisfactorily. I hope you enjoy this one, though, and I'll get the next one out as soon as I can. :)

“There,” Michael said. “Can you feel anything now?”

Rabbit tilted her head, listening attentively for any incoming signals from her hand. There were none, not even when she sent an outgoing command to wiggle her fingers. The metal digits moved, but returned no feedback. “Nnnnnope. That’s weird.”

Michael grinned. “Yeah, I bet it would be. Here, I’m gonna start unscrewing the caps now. Tell me if you feel anything.”

“Gotcha.” Rabbit sat back and watched, intrigued, as Michael took a pair of pliers from the row of tools. She could hear the clink of metal on metal as they clamped around the tip of her index finger, and she could hear the faint squeak and screech as it began to unscrew, but still no signals or warning messages arrived. The utter blankness was almost euphoria-inducing.

Michael glanced up at her. “Still all right?”

“Oh, yeah.” The first cap came off, and was set aside. “Are you gonna keep those?”

“Don’t know.” Michael started work on the next finger. “The metal might be salvageable, but I’d need to try beating it out first to see. Worst comes to worst, we can get you some new ones. Copper’s pretty easy to come by.”

“Ah.” Rabbit fell into silence.

It wasn't that big a deal. They were just bits of copper, after all. Easily replaceable. Not unique in any way.

Except that Pappy had made them.

Four more little clinks, and Rabbit’s fingers were bare. Curious despite herself, Rabbit lifted her hand to study the tiny wires protruding from the ends. Wiggled them experimentally. They all moved obediently, but a tiny spark emanated from her middle finger and she jerked back, startled.

“That's not good.” Michael grabbed a pair of rubber gloves from the next table over and took Rabbit’s hand again carefully. “The casing’s probably stripped somewhere. If it’s not too bad a hole, I can just melt the rubber and close it back up—oh.”

“What?” Rabbit asked. “What is it?”

“We… may have to get you some new sensory pads, too,” Michael said. “Some of these are cracked. What _happened_ to you?”

Rabbit curled in on herself and didn’t reply.

“Rabbit…” Michael hesitated. “It wasn’t… your _creator_ who did this, was it?”

Rabbit’s head shot up in alarm.

“W-w-w-w-w-w-what? No! Pappy would never, I—I l-l-l-l- _loved_ Pappy, I—he—”

“Okay, okay, it’s all right, Rabbit, shh, I’m sorry!” Michael let go of her hand to brace her shoulders instead. “Take a deep breath, okay? Cool down for a second.”

Rabbit obeyed, sucking in as much air as could fit into her bellows, and then released it again. After a few rounds of this her boiler had calmed somewhat, and she vented a quick plume of steam through her cheeks.

“There we go,” Michael said. “Better?”

Rabbit nodded wordlessly.

“Okay.” Michael ran a gloved hand through his hair, making little tufts of it stand up haphazardly. “I’m sorry I upset you. Your inventor was a good man, huh?”

“The best,” Rabbit said quietly. “I loved him.”

“But somebody had to have hurt you,” Michael pressed on. “You couldn't have gotten that beat up on your own, could you? How long were you wandering for?”

Reluctantly, Rabbit checked her memory banks. “Less than a day. I left r-really late last night.”

“Left from where?”

Could she tell Michael? Michael wouldn’t turn her in, not if he was this upset about Rabbit’s injuries, would he? But what if he reported it to somebody, and _they_ thought that it wasn’t such a big deal, really, and sent Rabbit back anyway? She was just a machine, after all, abandoned by her creators, and wasn’t Becile her lawful owner, now?

Rabbit didn’t know, but she definitely didn't want to find out.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she said. “I just w-wanna get fixed, an’ get some new water, and then… an’ then…” She trailed off, eyes slowly widening as a frightening thought took form in her processor.

What was she going to do, after she was fixed? She’d never thought about it, never believed she’d actually make it that far. She’d always just sort of assumed she’d break down before she made it somewhere safe, or that she’d end up turning herself off somewhere in the forest, far away from Becile’s house or anyone who knew him. Now that she was in Balboa, with mechanics and robots who may or may not be AIs just like Delilah, what was she supposed to do with herself?

“Rabbit?” Michael asked cautiously. “Are you all right?”

“I…” Rabbit’s head jerked, shakily, to one side and then back again. “I dunno. I dunno w-w-w-w-what I’m goin’ to do now. I… I…” Oil welled up beneath her eyes, and she lifted a hand to wipe at it until she remembered the exposed wires. “I d-didn’t think I’d ever get here. I don’t know what I’m gonna do now.”

“It’s okay,” Michael said. “You can figure that out later. We’ll take care of you until you do, all right? You’ll be fine.” Getting up from his chair, he removed his gloves and hopped up onto the slab beside Rabbit, slinging an arm around her shoulders to rub at her metal bicep soothingly. The utter casualness of the gesture, the simple willingness of Michael to touch her in such a way, struck Rabbit hard and a drop of oil slid down her cheek to spatter onto the fabric of her pants.

“I’m sorry you were alone,” Michael murmured, “but you don’t have to be anymore. We’ll take care of you, I promise.”

The words did little to comfort her, but Rabbit murmured a quiet “thank you” anyway. Manners were important, Ma had taught her. Perhaps they hadn’t worked so well with the Beciles, but maybe it would be different this time. Michael seemed kinder, and the other robots were nothing at all like Delilah. Maybe Rabbit could have a place here, at least for a little while.

At least until she could figure out how she was going to find Ma.

“I’ll clean out your boiler first,” Michael told her, “and then scrub all this mud off you. That way you’ll at least be comfortable while I figure out getting you new parts. Does that sound okay?”

“Sounds great,” Rabbit said, offering a weak smile. Even if everything else went to hell, at least she’d have a clean boiler.

By this point, she’d learned that was nothing to sneeze at.

 

~ * ~

 

“How are you doing, dear?”

Rabbit grinned, practically bouncing up and down as she let Ma into the stuffy white foyer. “Grrrrreat, now that you’re here. How-how was the trip?”

“Tiring.” Ma offered an apologetic smile as she fanned herself with a handful of newssheets. The ink was smeared, as if she’d been at it for a while. “I know you probably don't notice it, dear, but the heat wears on us humans rather easily.”

“I notice!” Rabbit insisted—although, until Ma had said anything, she hadn’t really been thinking about the weather at all. “It… it’s wetter, isn’t it? Pappy said I’d have to watch out for m-m-mold on my insides.”

Ma patted her on the cheek affectionately.

“It’s more humid, dear,” she corrected her. “But he was right, you should keep an eye on your bellows and ask Mr. Becile to dry them out for you if they start working improperly.”

Rabbit’s grin dimmed slightly, but she quickly forced her lips upwards again. “Y-yeah, Ma, okay. Do you wanna see my room?”

“Well, I _was_ hoping to at least say hello to the man of the house.” Ma peered around Rabbit at the open door to the hallway. “Is he around? Or Miss Hannah?”

Rabbit hesitated. “I, uh… Haven’t spoken to ‘em today.”

Ma looked back at her, shocked. “Not even to say good morning? Dear, the purpose of being a guest isn’t to slink around the house without speaking to your hosts! Where have your manners gone?”

Rabbit hung her head, scuffing her feet against the carpet. “Sorry, Ma.”

“It’s not me you ought to be apologizing to,” Ma scolded. “Now, where do your hosts tend to spend their mornings?”

No. Nononono _no._ A little desperately, Rabbit protested, “M-m-m-miss Hannah said that I w-wasn’t to bother her when she was teachin’ little Timmy. An’ Mr. Becile’s usually in his lab right about now, so I don’t wanna bother him either. Honest, Ma, I’m not tryin’ to be rude, they’re just… busy.”

Ma sighed but relented. “All right, dear. Show me to your room, then, but I do have to discuss something with your hosts before I leave.”

“O-oh…?” Rabbit frowned, but dutifully led Ma through the door and down the hall. “Is everythin’ okay?”

“Oh, yes, yes, there’s nothing to worry about,” Ma reassured her. “It’s good news, actually—I’ve managed to find a position in town.”

Oh, that _was_ good news. Ma finding a job meant that she was getting money, which meant that she was closer to getting her own place and being able to afford a mechanic to take care of Rabbit.

Maybe she wouldn't have to stay here with Becile for that much longer, after all.

“There’s just one thing,” Ma went on as they climbed the stairs. “My prospective employer. She’s a perfectly fine woman, and very respectable, but… rather particular about vacation days for her staff.”

Oh, no. Rabbit could feel her boiler sink. “W-what’s that mean, Ma?”

Another apologetic smile. “It means that I won’t be able to come and see you as often as I’d have liked, dear. I’ll get perhaps one or two days off a month to come see you, but otherwise I’m to stay there.”

The cogs in Rabbit’s chest seized and ground against each other painfully.

No more visits from Ma. No more waiting at the front door every Saturday to watch her telltale silhouette walking up the drive, wondering if she’d brought a present for her or not. Nothing to break up the monotony of day in, day out, wandering around the house in search of something to do, no one to talk to to satisfy the craving for human interaction. Just piles of endless mornings, waking up from stasis to stare at the same white ceiling that she’d gone to bed to, endless hours retracing her steps in the library and the gardens searching for something she hadn’t already seen or read, endless cups of water for her boiler under the blank, uncomprehending gaze of Delilah.

“D-d-did you tell her that you’ve got a kid waitin’ for you?” Rabbit asked. “A kid who’s d-d-dyin’ to see you every week and if you don’t go visit her she’ll be all sad an’ lonely?”

“Rabbit…” Ma’s eyes looked red. “Don’t make this harder than it already is. Please, darling.”

It was like a slap to the face. Rabbit averted her eyes, letting a puff of steam escape from her cheeks to momentarily obscure her shame.

Selfish. She was being so _selfish._ It wasn’t about her anymore, it was about Ma. Ma’s job, Ma’s choices, Ma’s life. She’d been very fortunate, so far, to have Ma come and visit her as often as she had, but now it was Ma’s turn to focus on herself, on actually getting them out of this mess (that was, Rabbit thought sometimes in the innermost corners of her processor, basically her fault).

Ma didn't need her pressure or her whining right now. And so she carefully tucked away the concern that had been niggling in her processor for the past couple of weeks and swallowed the words she’d been planning on telling her once they were safe and alone.

She could handle things on her own.

“’M sorry,” Rabbit mumbled. Halting in place on the stairs, she let her spine slump over momentarily in defeat, and then slowly she began to turn in preparation to start her way back down.

Her hip, however, had other ideas; halfway through the movement, something within the joint caught, and Rabbit swayed dangerously for a moment before finally managing to restabilize on her other leg.

Ma’s voice took up a note of concern. “Rabbit, dear, are you—”

“Miss Tonia, is that you?”

Becile stood at the bottom of the stairs, a pair of battered goggles pushed up onto his forehead as he wiped his hands off on an oily rag. “I didn't hear you come in!” he continued. “Terribly sorry, I was in the lab, you see.”

“I can see that,” Ma replied. She sounded distracted. “Mr. Becile, Rabbit seems to be having some issues with her hips—could you possibly take a look at her?”

Rabbit’s oil lines constricted momentarily and she shook her head.

“Oh, there’s n-no need for that, Ma, I’m in tip-top shape. Honest!” Rabbit wiggled her hips—thankfully no longer stuck—to prove her point. “It was just a little glitch.”

“Your physical glitches worry me, you know that,” Ma admonished her. “Mr. Becile?”

“Of course, of course. It’ll only take a moment, anyway. Come along, Rabbit.”

Stubborn static built up along Rabbit’s shoulder blades, but she couldn't keep refusing, not in front of Ma. Slumping over again, she sighed a plume of steam and descended the stairs. “I’m fine, honest.”

“Just a precaution,” Becile told her, “and a favor for Miss Tonia. I’ll be in and out.”

Rabbit snorted but said nothing.

 

- 

 

“Has she had any other episodes like this?” Ma asked once Rabbit was situated on Becile’s worktable.

“Mm, none that I can think of,” Becile said, “but then I haven’t had the pleasure of having her in the lab for almost a fortnight.”

“Rabbit!” Ma sounded positively scandalized. “What _have_ you been doing, not speaking to your hosts or coming in for maintenance?”

“Mostly playing that whining instrument of hers,” Becile replied before Rabbit could manage to. “That, or exploring the library. At least Colonel Walter gave her an inquisitive mind, but frankly, Miss Tonia, I think he could have programmed Rabbit with a tad more common sense.”

Steam poured out of Rabbit’s cheeks and she hunched her shoulders up towards her ears.

“Pappy gave it to me,” she said petulantly. “He wanted me to play it. An’ it's not a whining instrument, it’s a _melodica_.”

“A ‘slurp and play,’ I heard you calling it, once,” Becile remarked, one eyebrow lifted pointedly. “Now let’s get on with it, shall we? Let me see your hip.”

Rabbit squirmed uncomfortably on the table. “D-do I hafta?”

“Rabbit.” All the humor had gone out of Becile’s face. “Your hip. Now, please.”

Stubbornness withering under Becile’s direct stare, Rabbit ducked her head and began unbuckling the belts around her waist.

It wasn't a big deal. The machinery in her hips probably wasn't anything Becile hadn’t seen before. It was just a ball and socket joint—probably what he’d used for Delilah. Nothing to be private about. But Rabbit couldn't shake the feeling of staticky tension growing in her shoulders as she removed first one belt, and then the other.

“I don’t know why you wear all of this, anyway,” Becile groused. There was a good-natured edge to his tone, but it sounded a bit forced, as if it were mostly for Ma’s benefit. “It’s not as if you’ve any modesty to hide. And after a certain point, it just seems a bit indulgent, doesn't it, Miss Tonia?”

“Rabbit dresses in a manner that pleases her,” Ma replied calmly. “If it is an indulgence, I find it a rather harmless one.”

“Yes, well…”

Rabbit ignored them, setting the belts aside and working on shimmying her tights down over her hips. She was used to comments about her clothes; Becile had made a fuss last week after little Timmy mentioned that the laces on the vest Rabbit liked to wear occasionally reminded him of a corset. Hannah had thrown her dirty looks for days.

How dare robots try to make themselves look attractive, Rabbit supposed, thinking of Delilah and her collection of precisely two long, shapeless dresses.

“There we are. Finally.” Becile peered down at the offending joint, lowering his goggles over his eyes to make use of the magnifying lens. Rabbit curled her fingers around the edge of the table and steadfastly looked away.

“Is there any debris?” Ma asked. “Or do you think it’s perhaps electrical?”

“Give me a moment.” Becile retrieved a small bent tube from his shelf of supplies, then returned to the work table and inserted it into the gap between Rabbit’s plates.

Three different warnings fritzed up Rabbit’s side to her processor.

“Hey, warn a gal, would ya?” Rabbit shifted uncomfortably, trying to shift the tube from sitting directly against her joint. “That hurts.”

“Apologies. I’ll only be a moment.” Becile shifted the tube along, peering into the eyepiece on the end. “I’m looking to see if anything’s come loose, or fallen into your joint without your noticing. Can you shift your leg outwards for me?”

Rabbit grimaced, but rotated her hip just like she’d done on the steps. Just as she was about to complete the rotation, something caught again, scraping against the metal casing of her joint and she winced at the sensation.

“Mm, I see it.” Becile extracted the tube from the joint and straightened, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead. “It’s a very small, very minor imperfection in the ball of the joint. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have thought that would be enough to pose a problem, but there’s also the possibility that her systems are overcompensating. I’m perfectly willing to look through her programming for the faulty code.”

Rabbit twitched, releasing a sharp burst of steam. “N-n-no, I think my head’s just fine, thanks. ‘M not gettin’ any error messages or nothin’.”

“Come now, Rabbit.” Becile sounded frustrated. “When humans are sick, they must be examined to find the root cause of the problem. When automatons are malfunctioning, they must be diagnosed in the same way. I may not be Colonel Walter, but I am perfectly capable of working on you.”

Rabbit shivered. “I don’t wanna.”

Becile looked towards Ma. “Can you talk any sense into her?”

“Rabbit, dear.” Ma laid a placating hand on Rabbit’s knee. “Mr. Becile is an engineer, just like your father was. That's why you’re here, so he can maintain you. He’s not going to break you.”

Rabbit looked down.

That wasn't what she was worried about.

_“—terribly frustrating.”_

_“What is, dear?”_

_“The damned machine. It won’t let me run diagnostic tests on it. Keeps making excuses to not come in for maintenance or just plain won’t show up when I tell it to.”_

_“It’s a machine, Thadeus, not a child. You don’t have to cajole it.”_

_A pause._

_“Miss Tonia would have my head. I’d lose my chance and likely be charged on some ridiculous count of abuse to boot.”_

_“So don’t let it know what you’re doing. Delilah has an off switch. I’m sure this one does too.”_

She couldn't let Becile look inside her head. Rabbit didn't know what Becile meant to do, or what he’d meant by his “chance,” but it couldn't be anything good. Pappy hadn’t liked Becile, hadn’t trusted him, and so Rabbit wouldn't either.

“You can f-fix my hip,” Rabbit spoke into the quiet laboratory, “but I don’t want you looking at my head. My programming’s fine.”

And with that, she tugged her tights back up over her hips and jumped down from the table, snatching up her belts on her way out the door.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I'm updating sooner this time- I had been thinking about including some of these scenes in the last chapter, but updating would have taken too long so they're getting put in now. I'm not sure how often I'll be doing the clean break in timelines between chapters now, since things are getting a bit muddled up (you'll see what I mean soon), but I'll try to keep it as clear as I can. If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask. :) I at least have the first two scenes of the next chapter done, but I need to do some planning for how I'm going to pace things. I hope you guys like the chapter!

“There you go, that’ll keep for now.” Michael gave the last cap one final turn, then swiped a finger over the lot to check for looseness. “I’ll fit you with the new sensory pads tomorrow, and then we’ll figure out if we’re gonna keep or toss these caps. You’ll be fine wearing them overnight?”

“Yeah, one m-more night won’t hurt.” Rabbit watched as Michael reconnected the lines that would restore feeling to her hands, and then flexed them as the familiar static resumed. It was a bit lighter this time, thanks to Michael’s repairs to the wires’ coating, but the feedback she was getting from her broken sensory pads was still a bit disconcerting. Still, all that paled in comparison to the calmness her boiler was finally enjoying: squeaky clean and filled to the brim with cool, distilled water. Rabbit could have wept with joy.

“Speaking of which…” Michael got up and walked over to a small spicket in the corner to wash his hands. “I should show you to the charging stations.”

Rabbit tilted her head warily. “The w-w-what, now?”

“Oh, that’s where the robots go when they go into stasis,” Michael explained. “We plug them into an external power source so their systems don’t get drained while they’re sleeping. Takes up a bit of electricity, but…” he shrugged. “The robots say they get better sleep with it than without it.”

“Ah-huh.” Rabbit tugged her gloves back on, ignoring the way the dry mud crackled overtop of the fabric. Hopefully they could get her clothes fixed up tomorrow as well, although she hadn’t the faintest idea what she’d wear while they were being washed. She certainly wouldn't be going naked in the meantime. “Do ya know if I would be compatible with it? I wasn’t m-m-made like the rest of ‘em.”

“I would think so,” Michael said, turning the water off and drying his hands. “Even if your creator was making you from scratch, there’s only so many kinds of parts on the market. You most likely have _some_ kind of port we can use.”

“Ah-huh,” Rabbit said again. She hopped down from the slab, wriggling her hips experimentally. Michael had finally managed to unstick the thing—after all that fuss, all it had needed was a quick bout with the buffer—and the new freedom of movement was throwing Rabbit’s systems, accustomed to compensating for it for so long, for a loop. “W-will I be sharing a room with anyone?”

Michael shook his head. “Nah, they’re more like cubicles. You each get your own.” He paused. “Will that be okay? I dunno if you get bothered by tiny spaces.”

_Arms immobilized. Dark. Can’t see—_

Rabbit shrugged in feigned nonchalance and forced a smile. “I’ll be fine. So where’re we going, bucko?”

 

-

 

The building that housed the charging stations was located just a bit further down the street from Michael’s workshop. (It wasn’t really _Michael’s_ , Michael explained, all of the mechanics used it, he just happened to be the most senior one working there.) It was a two-story building, with dozens of cubicles for the many robots that lived and worked in the town. When they first came through the doors, Rabbit goggled in surprise at the wall of cubbyholes, each containing a key for a different cubicle door, and the crush of automatons lining up to get the choicest spot.

“It doesn't really matter which one you take,” Michael told her as they got in line with the others. “Everyone returns their key the next morning, but some robots have their preferred machines, and some ‘families’ like to sleep together. Here, I’ll get you a spot near Jon and the Spine.”

“Th-thanks,” Rabbit murmured, still feeling a bit lost as she gazed around. The place was a mass of wires, snaking in from every conceivable direction through holes drilled into the floors, ceiling, and walls. Automatons crossing from the counter to the cubicles had to carefully place their feet in order to not to trip over the thick cables running haphazardly down the hall. Every cubicle had a small door, enough for privacy but that didn't quite reach the ground; one at the end of the hall was ajar, and through it Rabbit could see the outline of a tall metal chamber and more thick cables.

“Here you go,” Michael said, making Rabbit jerk in surprise. “Number 17. Jon’s 16 and Spine’s usually number 18, so you’ll be right next door to them.”

“Great…” Rabbit looked back at the chamber warily. “So, uh… how does this thing work again?”

“I’ll show you. C’mon.” Michael led her through the cubicles until they reached one with the number 17 painted on the door in thick black lettering, and inserted the key into the lock. The door swung open to reveal another chamber, soft blue light pulsing from the panel behind the seat.

“Good, they’ve turned them on already,” Michael said. “Here.” And he handed Rabbit the key, who, after a moment’s glancing around, shoved it into a pocket of her still damp jacket.

“You’re going to sit here—” Michael gestured at the gently sculpted platform—“and then this cable—” he pointed it out—“is going to get plugged into your charging port, if we can find one. It’ll supply power directly to your processor and other systems so your boiler can take a break overnight.”

Rabbit glanced down at herself. “W-where do you think it’d be? I’ve never seen it, and Pappy never said anything about one.”

“Hm. Probably on your back, then, or—” Michael paused. “Would you mind if I looked at your head?”

Rabbit hesitated, then nodded and removed her hat so Michael could peek under the wig at the back of her skull.

“Ah-hah!” Michael exclaimed happily. “There’s a seam. I’ll see if I can get it open on my own, one sec…”

_Held down, dark, can’t see—It’s okay. It’s just Michael. Relax._

Just as Rabbit was about to flinch and shake Michael off of her, there was a quiet click and then suddenly there was air flowing against a part of Rabbit’s head that she hadn’t known existed before.

“There!” Michael sounded very pleased with himself. “That wasn’t so hard. Okay, let’s take a look, see if you’re compatible…” He took a few steps away towards the machine to study something, then came back and laid a few different objects, one at a time, against whatever he’d found in Rabbit’s skull.

“A…4. Okay, then, good. I’ll just get this screwed onto the end and then we’re good to go.”

“Is that not a normal one?” Rabbit asked, inexplicably anxious all of a sudden. “What’s it normally?”

Michael raised an eyebrow at her. “They’re all _normal_ , Rabbit, that’s why we have them here. I’ll admit, A4 is a bit less common than the others, but I’m guessing your creator wasn’t expecting you to need it that often.”

Rabbit kept looking at him, and Michael sighed. “Okay, A2 is the most common. That’s what most of the machines in here come with normally. Jon’s an A2. But Spine’s an A5, okay? That one’s even rarer than yours. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay…” Rabbit watched as Michael replaced the other plug tips in their box and unscrewed the two-pronged tip from the machine’s cord, swapping a three-pronged one in its place. “…Michael?”

“Yeah, Rabbit?”

“…Is it g-gonna hurt?”

Michael paused in his work and looked up at her. “It… it shouldn't, no. Are you nervous?”

Rabbit offered a quick, twitchy smile. “I-I-I’ve never been plugged into anything before. I just thought… it’s a lot of electricity, isn't it?”

“Well, yeah, but you’re made to handle it.” Michael stood there for a moment, cable forgotten in his hand. “Rabbit… did you ever… get a short before? Or overloaded with electricity or something?”

Rabbit sucked her lower lip into her mouth, then glanced down at her hands and back up at Michael meaningfully.

“Does a lot of d-d-damage, ‘lectricity,” she said quietly.

Michael’s face creased in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Rabbit shrugged.

“S’okay. I’m still workin’, aren’t I?” She took in a deep breath and released it as steam. “He didn't manage to break me. I’m still here.”

The words were as much for herself as for Michael.

“You are,” Michael affirmed. “And I promise, this won’t hurt you. But if you don’t want to use it, or if you get uncomfortable at all during the night, you can pull it right out and you’ll be fine. Do you want me to show you?”

Rabbit nodded, and so Michael gestured for her to sit down on the little platform.

“The plug clicks into your port up here,” he said, taking Rabbit’s hand and letting her feel the opening. “You push it in until it clicks, and then it’ll take over powering you until you take it out. To do that you just do this—” He guided Rabbit’s fingers to a small button on the side of the plug and depressed it. “And then it’ll come right out. It might take a second for your boiler to come back on afterwards, but the cord’s giving you enough power that that won’t matter.” He stepped back, leaving the cord in Rabbit’s grasp. “Does that sound okay?”

“Y-yeah.” Rabbit studied the prongs for a moment. “Will it put me in stasis right away?”

“Depends on your programming,” Michael said. “But generally no, you get a warning before it happens, or you manually control shutting down. And then tomorrow morning around six or seven the power to the building shuts off and then you all wake up. It all runs pretty smoothly.”

“Michael!”

The two of them looked up to see The Jon bound into the room, blue eyes glowing bright and golden grin stretched wide. The Spine trailed behind him, leaning casually enough against the frame, but his brows were furrowed over his optics in an emotion Rabbit couldn't quite identify.

“You got a room for Rabbit!” The Jon exclaimed, sounding utterly delighted by this development. “Is she gonna be staying with us?”

“She is for tonight,” Michael replied with the same patience Pappy used to show when Rabbit was newly made and unrelentingly exhausting. “How did it go with Brianna?” This part was directed towards The Spine.

“She wanted to know if Rabbit was all right,” Spine said. “I told her she was, and that she would probably be staying the night. She’d like to meet Rabbit tomorrow, unless she was planning on moving on.”

Michael and Rabbit exchanged a glance before Michael shook his head.

“I’m thinking it’s going to be a couple of days at least,” he said. “I still need to fix her hands, and then Rabbit needs to figure out what she wants to do. You and Jon wouldn’t mind showing her around town tomorrow, would you?”

“I wouldn’t,” Spine replied. “But I’m not sure about letting The Jon.”

Rabbit frowned. That seemed like a terribly rude thing to say, especially considering that The Jon was still in the room. Except… when she turned to look at the golden robot, The Jon didn’t seem to have heard. The hyperactivity of a moment before had faded, and he was just sort of… standing there, optics unfocused and dull, head tilted to the side as if listening to something none of them could hear.

“Does… does he get like that a lot?” Rabbit didn't feel comfortable asking the question any louder than a whisper. Michael shrugged.

“It’s… been getting more frequent,” he said, a little helplessly. “I haven’t been able to figure out what it is. Most of the time he’s perfectly fine, and then he just…” He gestured at the vacant stare. “Gets like that.”

“He’s still on the network, Michael,” The Spine said. “I’ve been watching him, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, but for how much longer?” Michael sounded miserable. “I don’t even know if it’s his core or his brain that’s malfunctioning, and Delilah won’t respond to my letters.”

“Network?” Rabbit asked. “What network?”

Michael glanced at The Spine then back at Rabbit.

“It’s a… connection, of sorts,” he explained. “Wireless. All the Moreau robots can communicate with it, if they’re within a certain range of each other. It helps them coordinate work when they’re in groups, so they don’t have to waste time talking.”

“That sounds n-neat.” Rabbit tilted her head. “Do I have that?”

“You’re not a Moreau bot,” Michael said, “so probably not. Your inventor only made you anyway, you said, so there wouldn’t have been a point to putting that technology in.”

“Oh.” Rabbit’s shoulders slumped. Another thing she was lacking. Was there anything interesting she _could_ do? “Maybe… if-if I stayed for long enough, d’you think I could get one of those wireless thingies put in me, too?”

“I don’t know, Rabbit, that would be up to Miss Mor—…oh.” Michael blinked several times, eyes wide in the expression Pappy used to get whenever he’d suddenly gotten a very good idea.

“Michael?”

“I have to go write another letter. Spine, get Jon to his cubicle for me, okay? Thank you!” And with that Michael was out the door. Spine watched after him, one black brow arched high.

“Is… is he okay?” Rabbit asked hesitantly. Now that she was more or less alone with The Spine, the bot’s imposing height and stark coloring was a bit more intimidating than before.

“Oh, he gets like that sometimes,” The Spine said dismissively. “It’s a human thing. They get all vague and expect you to know what they’re talking about. He’ll explain tomorrow, most likely.” He turned his attention to The Jon, now starting to sway slightly on his feet. “He’s not very heavy; I can get him to his station on my own. Will you be all right in here by yourself?”

Rabbit looked at the plug in her hands. “Y-yeah, thanks. See ya tomorrow.”

“Good night.” Spine lifted The Jon carefully in his arms and backed out of the room, leaving the door ajar as he had no free hands to close it with. Rabbit stood and did so herself without looking into the hallway at the rest of the robots passing by.

Any other time, she was sure, she’d be thrilled at the prospect of meeting other automatons. Sentient ones, just like her, programmed with actual thoughts and feelings just like she was. But right now…

She’d thought she would feel so much better, finding Balboa. Finding anyone, really, that wasn’t Becile or someone who would send her back to that awful house. And she was, in a way. At the very least she was grateful that Michael had been so kind to her, had cleaned out her boiler and had promised to take care of her without a single suggestion that he was interested in what lay inside Rabbit’s head and her programming.

But she was so terribly _alone_ here. The other robots had their special network, The Jon and The Spine had each other… Ma didn’t even know where Rabbit _was_. And Rabbit couldn't send a letter to her because she’d never even told her where she’d moved to after her first position.

Slowly, Rabbit returned to the chamber and sat, picking up her hat to stroke it gently where her goggles used to be.

“I miss you, Pappy,” she whispered to the quiet air of her cubicle. Outside, the clanks and clangs of the other robots had settled and a low hum was growing in strength throughout the building. “Why did it h-hafta to be this way, huh? W-why’d you have to leave me an’ Ma?”

There was no answer. Oil welled up beneath Rabbit’s optics, but she just wiped it away, resisting the urge to sniff like Ma did when she cried.

_No mucus to clear away. Learned behavior. Organic._

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I know you didn’t m-mean for it to happen.”

Still no answer. With a sigh, Rabbit picked up the plug once more and felt around until she found the port in the back of her skull.

_Click._

_Unrecognized hardware attempting to install in alpha port one. Executive authorization required._

“Accept.” Rabbit’s voice was scarcely louder than an exhale.

_Installation in progress. External power source detected. Permission to utilize?_

“…Granted.”

Electricity began to flood in through her neural network, down her spine and outward towards her limbs. Rabbit tensed momentarily, expecting pain, but the only sensation was a faint warmth as seldom-used wires sparked alive with energy and she relaxed, letting her optics dim and shut.

_Alternate power source sufficient. Shutdown to sleep in thirty seconds._

It was a surprisingly comforting sort of feeling. Like she was being held. Rabbit drifted deeper into the flow, letting the static creep further forward into her brain.

Her surroundings grew hazy.

One by one, her senses blinked out, and then she was asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this ended up being way longer than I anticipated- almost 6,000 words! The last scene sort of grew many times larger than what I had originally anticipated (some of those flashbacks hadn't been planned for) but they were pretty fun to write. :) Things go a bit poorly for Rabbit in this chapter, as usual, but I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Note: scenes in this chapter take place both in present-time Balboa and also continue the flashback timeline.

“I’m disappointed in you, Rabbit.”

Becile’s voice, loud and slightly distorted, echoed off the walls of the room. In the back of Rabbit’s mind, a tiny line of code tried to ascertain whether the acoustics were indicative of a stone room or a metal one.

Inconclusive.

“I’m disappointed,” Becile continued, “because after all I’ve done for you—letting you into my home, giving you parts and doing your maintenance—this is how you repay me? By trying to run away?”

Was it a small room, or a large one?

Inconclusive.

Rabbit tugged futilely at the straps binding her arms to the chair. They were thick, made of leather and strategically placed to keep her from getting leverage against them.

She was only made of copper. She could not overpower them.

“I’m not your father,” Becile continued, his steps echoing in circles around Rabbit in untraceable patterns until Rabbit’s processor began to heat in confusion. “In fact, I find the entire metaphor distasteful. You are an automaton, a creation of human hands, not a child. And yet, your childish behavior calls for parental discipline.” He finally came to a stop in front of Rabbit, the dizzying echo of footsteps fading once more into silence. A deep thrumming started within Rabbit’s chassis.

_Danger. Danger. Damage imminent._

“It was slightly difficult, coming up with a suitable punishment for an automaton,” Becile remarked. The stiff material of his lab coat rustled as if he were removing things from its pockets. Something metal clinked. “Especially one so stubborn as yourself. Imposing restrictions on privileges would go nowhere; you obviously are inclined to do as you please, with no respect towards others.”

 _Danger. DANGER._ Rabbit struggled once more against the bonds, to no avail. Bubbles of air began to pop inside of her boiler as her temperature climbed. Not for the first time, Rabbit tried desperately to open her eyes, but they were open already. No signals were coming through.

“Turning you off for any length of time would be entirely unsuitable,” Becile continued. More clinking, as if he were laying tools out along a worktable. “Too short of a time and you would not learn from your mistakes, too long and your “mother” would grow concerned. Although, I suppose if I informed her of your transgressions, she would be just as concerned…”

Rabbit’s lips began to tremble. Porcelain teeth clattered together, the resulting vibration reverberating painfully throughout her skull. Almost outside of her conscious awareness, her fingertips clenched tightly enough around the chair arms to leave indents in the wood.

“The typical methods of corporal punishment do, of course, present a problem,” Becile said. “I cannot take you over my knee, as I could my son—therefore, some… ingenuity was required.”

“P-please.” Rabbit finally found her voice, weak and wavering and glitchy though it was. “Please, I p-promise, I won’t—w-w-w-won’t d-do it again, I—”

“Of course you won’t,” Becile said mildly. The words were accompanied by a quiet _clink_ , and Rabbit froze as she registered two metal prongs clamping onto either side of her right index finger. “You will _learn._ ”

 

-

 

Rabbit’s eyes shot open, staring unseeing into darkness as static and distorted, unfocused vocals erupted from her voice box.

_Unrecognized hardware—get it out get it OUT—installed in alpha port one. Sensory input missing. Integrity compromised. Rectify immediately._

Her fingers were gone. She couldn’t _feel_ them, she couldn’t—

Rabbit reached behind herself, feeling for the cord she knew was plugged into her cranial plates. If only she could get it out, she’d be free, she’d be safe. Her fingertips were useless, but her palms could still feel. There— _get it OUT._ The cord fell to the floor with a clank, and her boiler immediately came back online.

Moments later, three or four protocols initialized at once, making Rabbit’s processor hum under the strain. First her blue eye adjusted to the darkness, then the green, and then the static resolved into a quiet whimper before cutting off completely.

Breathing heavily, and suddenly feeling very foolish, Rabbit leaned back against the charging station with a sigh. A dream. That was all that had been. She was fine now, safe in Balboa with Michael and the others. Becile couldn’t get to her here. She was safe.

“Rabbit?”

Five or six conflicting commands shot down Rabbit’s spine and she flinched, turning her head towards the source of the sound. “Jon? Is that you?”

“Mm-hm.” Two glowing blue eyes appeared underneath the door, lightly illuminating a golden face and hand. “Was that you making all that noise?”

“Oh… you heard all that, didja?” Rabbit ducked her head down between her shoulders, too embarrassed to make eye contact. “’M sorry if I woke ya, Jon. You can go back to sleep, I’m fine.”

“You didn’t sound fine,” The Jon said, crawling through the gap and into the room. The bottom of the cubicle door knocked off his top hat, but he quickly caught it and replaced it. “You sounded sad.”

“It… it was nothing, Jon. Just a dream.” Rabbit looked about on the floor for the end of the charging cord. She ought to go back to sleep herself, at least for another hour or two; her internal clock told her it was 4:36:07 in the morning, and Michael wouldn’t be getting up until at least 6, if she knew anything about humans. Maybe she could bring up the possibility of some kind of quickstart protocol so the mismatched speed of her systems wouldn’t make her panic like that again.

“You dream, too?” Rabbit twitched again in alarm; Jon had managed to come stand right in front of her without her noticing. “I thought it was only us.”

Rabbit frowned. “Only us who?”

“Me and The Spine,” The Jon said matter-of-factly, plopping down onto the floor with a muffled clunk. “He won’t talk about his, but I know he has them, and I get them all the time. The other robots think we’re weird, sometimes.” He fidgeted, reaching up to touch the feather stuck into his hat. “Do you think we’re weird, Rabbit?”

“Not… not really,” Rabbit said, bewildered. “Not everybody dreams?”

“Nope.” The Jon shook his head emphatically, golden hair swinging everywhere. “All the other robots don’t. Michael thought it was strange when we told him, but he believed us.” The Jon paused, then looked up at Rabbit almost shyly. “What do you dream about, Rabbit?”

Rabbit shuddered and looked away. “M-m-maybe… Maybe it’s better if I didn’t talk about it. What do you dream about?” she asked to try and keep the Jon’s face from falling. “Anything interesting?”

“Oh, lots of things!” The Jon crossed his legs and leaned forward, a pose that greatly impressed Rabbit with its flexibility. “For instance, I often get to be the mayor of _Biscuit Town_ , one of the most productive cities in Kazooland, you know. It’s quite a lovely place, and they often let me ride on their _train_ …”

Rabbit leaned back against the charging station again, letting the Jon’s words wash over her in a wave of sound. The pictures they painted were very strange indeed, and yet the cartoon vividness of them was almost charming, lulling Rabbit towards stasis just like the stories Ma used to tell her.

_Processing speed approaching threshold. Shutdown to sleep in 30 seconds._

Rabbit let out a sigh of steam, closing her eyes and settling herself more comfortably against the walls of the station. Her senses began winking out one by one, but thankfully her hearing was the last to go this time, and she faded into stasis as the Jon’s story transitioned into one of steamboats and milkshakes and dancing in the sun.

 

~ * ~

 

The garden was Rabbit’s favorite spot on the manor grounds. Secluded from all of the humans who lived and worked there, but warm and beautiful, and always with a view of the sky. She would often come out here on a sunny morning or afternoon, plopping down by some bushes with melodica in hand to try and produce a string of notes that resembled anything like a pleasing tune. Music was difficult, Pappy had told her early on, and Rabbit needed as much practice as she could get if she wanted to learn, since she’d never received her formal music programming.

Today, however, was not one of those days.

Rabbit, secluded beneath a flowering pricker bush, sighed dejectedly and hummed a two-note, off-key tune. It had been approximately eight weeks since she’d come to live at the manor. Eight long, quiet, excruciatingly dreary weeks, and she was no closer to making friends with any of the Beciles than she had been at the start.

She’d _tried_ , of course. After that first failed attempt at being invited to breakfast, Rabbit had taken matters into her own hands and simply showed up to the dining room the next morning, mug of water in hand and cheerful smile on her face. Becile had shut the door on her, but not before Rabbit could hear little Timmy shouting “I wanna meet the new shiny robot!”, and then an idea was hatched.

For the next week, Rabbit had tried seeking out little Timmy’s attention whenever she could, whether it was by waiting outside the room where he had lessons with Hannah during the day or just happening to be in the garden when Timmy was let out to explore. She got close several times, even to the point of saying hello and trying to tell a joke once or twice, but an adult always ended up calling the boy away and scolding him before he’d even gotten out of earshot.

“You’re not to play with it,” the servants would say, shooting frightened glances back at Rabbit as if they expected her to chase after them and shoot fire from her mouth. (The flamethrower was a _small capacity_ one, Pappy had explained to her, and only to be used for lighting candles and other innocuous things.) “It’s dangerous.”

Rabbit hated being called an it. She was a person, just like they were, Ma and Pappy had always said so, and she deserved human pronouns.

But that wasn't anything as bad as what happened next.

After about a week of following Timmy around, Rabbit had started losing hope that she’d ever end up making friends with the boy. She’d retired to her room, where she was starting to spend more and more of her time lately, and was gazing aimlessly up at the ceiling when suddenly there was a tiny knock at her door.

Immediately, Rabbit’s brain set to analyzing.

It wouldn't be Becile; he would have just come right in. Same for Hannah, if she ever came up to visit Rabbit, which she didn’t. All of the other servants ignored her, save for the one who came to change the sheets once a week and bleach out the oil stains. Rabbit knew all of their footsteps, and she hadn’t heard any approaching. Delilah wouldn't have knocked either; she would have asked for her verbally.

Which meant…

Oil pumping faster, Rabbit sat up and slid off her bed, creeping quietly over to the door so as not to make too much noise and then turned the knob just as carefully to peer out through the crack.

Little Timmy.

“Hi, Rabbit.” Tim must have known just as well as Rabbit that his visit was forbidden; his words came out in the tiniest of whispers, and he looked both ways down the hallway to check for adults before speaking again. “Can I come in?”

Rabbit weighed the decision frantically. On the one hand, Timmy was definitely Not Allowed to be here, capital letters and all. If Hannah found him, or if one of the other adults did and the news got back to her, there would certainly be trouble. Maybe even a letter to Ma.

On the other hand…

Rabbit was so terribly lonely. And she wasn’t going to _hurt_ Timmy, she’d promised she wouldn't and she didn't want to anyway. How could people get mad at her if she didn’t do anything wrong? Maybe Ma could tell them that Rabbit wasn’t dangerous, really, and maybe even tell Hannah to _just let Rabbit play with the boy once in a while, it would do him so much good, and it’d keep the both of them out of your hair for an afternoon._ Rabbit would love her forever if she did that.

So, with one more quick look up and down the hallway, Rabbit cracked the door wider and whispered, “Get in.”

A grin spread across Timmy’s face and he squirmed through the crack, looking about excitedly for a moment before his face fell. “Oh.”

“W-what, what’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing weird in here,” Timmy said, disappointed. “I thought it’d be all scary with smoke and tools and things, like in Daddy’s workshop.”

Rabbit glanced around the room at the simple white bed, sparsely populated shelf, and wilting pile of daisies languishing on the windowsill. “Y-y-you wanted _scary_?”

“Mama said you were dangerous,” Timmy said matter-of-factly. “I thought your room would be scary.”

Rabbit was at a loss. “I… I’m not supposed to be, Pappy didn’t want—”

Timmy screwed up his face. “You’re _boring._ ”

That hurt. Rabbit pulled herself up to her full height, affronted. “I can too be scary!”

“Prove it!”

“I… I…” A little frantically, Rabbit’s dry tongue brushed over the notch to the flamethrower nestled away above her palate.

_Innocuous things only, Rabbit. Humans are not to be harmed._

But she wouldn’t _harm_ Timmy! Just… just scare him a little. A little _poof_ of flame, that’s all she needed, and then Timmy would think she was the coolest thing since sliced toast. No one would have to know.

“I… I can breathe fire.”

“No way.”

“Yeah, way. Look—” Rabbit opened her mouth, letting the flamethrower descend and click into place. “Seh? Ih blowh FAHR!” And with that she let a little oil leak into the reservoir and blew.

 _FWOOSH._ A tiny spurt of flame shot out from her mouth, billowing out and dying almost immediately as she cut off the fuel. Timmy’s mouth hung open, eyes wide in what Rabbit hoped was amazement.

“Soh?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Cool’r wha?”

As if startled out of his daze, Timmy giggled and clapped his hands together. “Do it again!”

“Uh.. uh-gahn?”

“Uh huh!” Timmy spread his hands out above his head. “More! Bigger! Make it reeeeeal scary!”

Well… once more couldn't hurt. A bit hesitantly, Rabbit let a little more oil into the reservoir and prepared to blow.

Hic—

_Oh, no._

Before Rabbit could give the command to cancel, her bellows had already constricted, expelling all of their contents at once against the tiny flame building outside the reservoir. Within half a second the flame had quadrupled in size, startling Rabbit who jerked backwards in an attempt to get away before remembering that it was attached to her.

_Warning. Heat levels rising. Probability of damage to faceplates increased by 10%. Extinguish flame immediately._

Except it was still continuing to grow, and spreading out in a fiery trail as Rabbit’s head jerked from side to side.

Timmy screamed.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, voice shrill. “Stop it, stop it!”

Human in danger. First priority: _stop the flame._

Rabbit screwed her eyes shut. _Emergency override. Shut down weapons systems._

 _Klck. Kzzzzzlt. Ptu ptu._ The flow of oil into the flamethrower slowed, then stopped, and at last the flame fizzled out with a faint scratch of static.

_Phew._

Except… Rabbit sniffed.

Something was burning. She opened her eyes.

The bed! Oh no! The bed was burning!

Timmy continued to shriek, covering his eyes and cowering by the door. “Put it out, put it out, put it out!”

“Oh my… oh my…” Her limbs were still malfunctioning, her chassis giving minute twitches every few seconds that taxed her coordination and balancing systems. She didn’t have time to run to the bathroom and grab water, not like this.

Only one option left…

Screwing up her face at what she was about to do, Rabbit opened the internal valve to her boiler, took a deep breath into her bellows, and _heaved_.

Water rose up her throat, spewing forth from her mouth to cascade over the bed and sheets and floor in a steaming wave. The flame sputtered out in seconds, leaving behind thin trails of smoke that wafted towards the ceiling in lazy curls, and Rabbit grinned despite the discomfort at her ingenuity.

_Danger averted. System function returning to normal_

“Yeah! We did it!” she cried, turning to beam at Timmy. “…Timmy?”

Timmy was gone.

 

-

 

Rabbit sighed again, tracing a gloved finger in the dirt and mulch beneath the bush. Miss Hannah had been terribly angry when she’d found out, and written a stern letter to Ma informing her of what had happened. The following visit had been perhaps the first time in Rabbit’s life that she hadn’t wanted to see Ma.

She hadn’t hugged her when she’d walked in the door. Her mouth had been drawn together in that tight little line that Rabbit had only ever seen after she’d had a fight with Pappy, and it hadn’t relaxed all throughout Hannah’s retelling of the story, during which Rabbit had spent most of her time staring down at her shoes, trying to keep the oil from leaking from her eyes.

“She’s a menace,” Hannah had declared. “A danger to my son. What in the world was the Colonel thinking, equipping a malfunctioning piece of metal with _weapons?_ _Fire?_ I want her out.”

“Now, Mrs. Becile,” Ma had said. “I’m sure there’s a way we could come to an agreement over this. Perhaps a deactivation of the systems?”

“Out of the question. She could turn them back on.”

“I wouldn't—” Rabbit started, but no one was listening.

“What about removal?” Becile asked suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him.

“Re-…removal?” Rabbit asked, voice small.

“Yes, removal of the weapons, so they no longer pose a threat. What do you think of that, dear?”

Hannah’s mouth pursed as if she’d just poured too much lemon juice in her tea, but after a few moments’ thought, she nodded curtly.

“All of them,” she said. “As soon as possible. I want no more of this endangering of my son.”

“But…” Rabbit shrank into herself, wrapping her arms protectively around her chassis. “That means y-you’d have to open me up.” She looked to Ma, eyes wide. “I don’t w-want him to, Ma, I—”

“Rabbit.” Ma’s voice was stern. “You made a decision. Decisions have consequences. Besides, you don’t need them anyway. You’re hardly in danger here.”

“B-b-b-b-but they’re for emergency situations!” Rabbit exclaimed. “W-what if there was a disaster, and we ne-needed fire cause there w-were no lights or gas, or if there was a fire and I needed to cut down a door to save somebody?”

“You'd be the one most likely to cause a fire in this household,” Hannah said stiffly. “It’s the weapons or you’re out. Miss Iris?”

“I’m afraid I agree with her,” Ma said, a bit more softly this time. “Can I expect you to cooperate, dear?”

She’d said yes. She had to, anything else would have only hurt Ma. But lying there on that slab, waiting to be deactivated, knowing that when she woke up she’d be missing vital parts that Pappy had given her…

Knowing that Ma had approved it.

Rabbit’s tongue traced over the raised seam on her palate that was all that was left of her flamethrower. She could still feel the old protocols lingering in the back of her processor where she’d relegated them for dumping (and then never followed through); activate, open, descend, fuel, ignite. She tried engaging the sequence, but all that came of it was a hollow click and a vague error message.

_Systems not found._

The same could be said for the buzzsaw that used to be contained in her forearm, the weak electrical impulse device in her wrist, the sonic screech cords in her throat, and the (heavily guarded) protocols that would trigger an overload of her blue matter core. (Becile had insisted on a vocal confirmation of _that_ deletion; Rabbit had never felt more like a machine than at that moment, being forced to vocalize every line of her internal processes as the code had been dumped.)

She felt so hollow, so empty now. And not just physically, metaphorically, too.

Ma hadn’t visited her in almost two weeks, now. Rabbit knew that it was just because of her job, that she was busy trying to save up to bring Rabbit back home to her, but that didn't help when every day she woke up staring at the ceiling, wanting nothing more than to just switch back off and sleep until the sun went down, but she couldn't, not without the family making snide comments and she hated feeling this way about humans but she was so _sick_ of it, sick of being treated like a child, like a thing, needing just enough supervision to not get into trouble but not enough to call it proper _interaction._

Rabbit clenched her fists, willing herself to calm. Her gears were more likely to catch when she was agitated, and the more she malfunctioned, the more ammo Becile had to try and drag her back to the workshop.

Maybe they wouldn't notice, if she just turned herself off under this bush. Did it manually, so her reactivation protocols wouldn't work, and just laid there until the gardener came to weed and pour mulch over everything. Maybe not even then.

No. She couldn't. What about Ma? She couldn't do that to her.

Rabbit stood, brushing dirt and bits of twigs off of her clothes. She needed to walk. Clear her head. She set off in the direction of the wood, trying to channel her footsteps into 4/4 time. Pappy had explained the basics of rhythm to her before he’d died, something so simple, he’d said, that even humans with no musical talent whatsoever could often manage it.

Surely Rabbit could at least do _that._

But her body wouldn't cooperate. Her hips wouldn’t rotate at precisely the right speed, or her gears would get stuck, or her internal timing wouldn't quite match the feedback of her feet touching the ground, and Rabbit quickly left off, even more frustrated than before.

The forest was quickly approaching, the darkness of the trees a stark contrast from the sunny brightness of the garden and the field. Looking up at the swaying branches, Rabbit was hit with the vague memory of the day she’d arrived, and the desire to run into the trees where no one could find her.

She could do that now.

Maybe no one would look.

Rabbit hesitated for a moment at the forest’s edge, rocking slightly from heel to toe. Forests held dangerous things, she knew that from her books; man-eating wolves who tricked little girls, and kindly old women who actually wanted to kidnap and cook little children who came and ate their houses.

Well. Rabbit was made of metal, and therefore inedible to any monsters she might run across, and she knew not to eat any stranger’s houses. Or food. Not like she needed it, anyway, so she wouldn’t be tempted. There. She’d be fine.

Still…

Rabbit looked back over her shoulder at the house. What about her melodica? And her music box, she couldn't leave that behind.

She dithered for another twelve seconds, then screwed up her face plates and huffed, starting back as fast as she could walk towards the house.

 

-

 

There. All packed, melodica and music box tucked safely within her bag, cushioned by her clothes. They’d be fine. Rabbit tugged her rucksack closed and turned to go, then gave a yelp and a full-body flinch when she saw Delilah standing in his doorway.

 _Beep_. “Inquiry: where are you going, Rabbit unit?”

“Up to heaven, after that scare,” Rabbit muttered, rubbing absently at her core. Delilah tilted her head but otherwise made no response. “I’m j-just goin’ out for a bit, I’ll be back later, okay?”

 _Beep._ “Does the master know that you are leaving?”

Rabbit scowled. “I told you before, he’s n-not my master. And no, I didn’t tell him, because it ain’t his business. Don’t you tell him either, you got it?”

Delilah gave a tri-note beep (in tune, Rabbit noted with a tinge of annoyance). “Incompatible with programming. The servants are not to keep secrets from the—”

“Oh, fer the love a—” Rabbit shoved past her, stomping down the hallway. “Don’t keep it a secret, then, tell ‘im in five hours, it won’t matter then!”

She’d descended the stairs by the time Delilah beeped again.

“Orders accepted. Commencing countdown…”

 

-

 

Rabbit smiled as the entrance to the wood closed behind her and all of the light reaching her photoreceptors slowly became tinged with green. She still had a few hours of daylight left—she’d probably come across the other end of the forest by then, but even if she didn’t she’d be fine; Pappy had outfitted her with pretty good night vision.

The birds in the trees above her chirped in beautiful patterns that made Rabbit’s chest feel light. She was doing the right thing, leaving that horrible place. Ma would forgive her, once she found her and explained to her just what had been going on that Becile wouldn't and Rabbit couldn’t tell her about. She’d probably feel awful about it at first, but Rabbit would reassure her. She was fine, really—missing a few parts, maybe, and a little bruised inside from the loneliness, but that was nothing being with Ma couldn’t fix. And hey, maybe the new mechanic she found would be able to give Rabbit a new saw. That would be fun.

Rabbit ambled along, every once in a while trying to copy the whistling she heard from the canopy above. She learned quickly that she wasn’t quite able to do it the way she’d seen Pappy do; she didn't have any saliva, so couldn’t wet her lips to whistle by blowing through them. She _could_ , however, produce a sort of metallic chirping if she focused hard enough and ignored her normal speaking vocal cords. The first time she produced a note, high and shrill, several birds startled and took flight, but with some care to soften the sound, a few returned and trilled back a few hesitant notes.

Rabbit was thrilled.

She whistled some more, trying to vary the notes like she’d been doing with her humming. They were still a bit off-key at first, turning minor when she didn’t mean them to, but after a few tries Rabbit was able to do almost a five-note run without missing a single beat.

Oh, Ma would be so proud of her when she got back! Maybe there was hope for her after all. Rabbit weaved between the trees and over vines with a new bounce in her step.

So what if she couldn't play the melodica yet? She could whistle. Rabbit was content.

 

-

 

…Several hours later, she was a bit less so.

The sun had set, or at least had sunk low enough so that its rays no longer penetrated the canopy of the trees. The birds had long since gone silent, and Rabbit’s own whistling had dwindled away to nothing.

Not that she was _scared_ or anything. But everything looked different in night vision, and in case something _did_ try and attack her, she didn't have any weapons anymore to scare it off with.

High above her in the trees, an owl hooted. Rabbit jerked in surprise, then scowled at herself and continued on, arms wrapped a bit tighter around her chassis.

“Scary, scary world,” she hummed to herself, ignoring, for the moment, her not-quite-accurate notes. “Full of scary, scary things—”

_Screeeeeeeeech!_

Rabbit ducked, throwing her arms up over her head for protection as something swooped dangerously close overhead. Steam erupted from her vents, momentarily obstructing her vision, and a strange, minor whine strained from her throat as she screwed her optics tightly shut.

“Bad idea, bad idea, _bad idea_ ,” she moaned. Where was the exit to this damn forest? All she wanted was to get out and find Ma and pretend that all of this had never happened.

She chanced a glance up; whatever it had been, it was gone, now. Rabbit straightened, brushing herself off with trembling fingers, and then—

A quiet rumbling, off to her right. Rabbit froze.

 _Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrl._ It was getting closer. _Analyzing…_

A twig snapped on the forest floor.

Rabbit was off like a shot. Stumbling over exposed roots, arms caught by creepers hanging from the trees, slipping in sifting sand, stomping through puddles that fritzed her feet, bellows panting frantically all the while as she looked to and fro, desperately searching for a way out.

_Bad idea, should never have left, won’t get out of here, won’t ever see Ma again, please, please, don’t kill me, don’t wanna die out here…_

The strange neon shades of the trees suddenly gave way to nothingness, and Rabbit stumbled out into a clearing—no, a field. Far above her, she could see stars twinkling faintly above the blackness of the canopy.

She was out.

At last.

Was there a house?

Rabbit’s eyes darted around, adjusting slowly to the new level of light. There! At the top of the hill, there was a square, dark shape with bright pinpricks of light. Humans!

Rabbit’s knees threatened to collapse in relief. Maybe they could help her, give her a place to stay for the night so she could continue on her way tomorrow morning. Maybe they would give her some direction towards the city, or even a lift to the train. Rabbit had loved riding the train with Ma, even with the strange looks she’d gotten from their fellow passengers. Most of them had been kind, speaking to her as if she’d been a little girl out with her mother for the first time, or else shaking their heads and smiling in a pleasant, if bewildered, fashion at her ticking gears and steam vents.

Rabbit replayed that memory often.

But now she had to focus.

Stumbling up the hill as fast as her legs could carry her (with the occasional glance backwards to make sure that the monster, whatever it had been, wasn't following), Rabbit puffed out tiny clouds of steam.

What was the protocol for this sort of situation? They would be strangers— _don’t talk to strangers, Rabbit, not without us around_ —but Rabbit needed help, and police were strangers and Ma and Pappy had said they were the good sort, not dangerous at all. Except maybe still be a little careful, since she was a robot and most people weren’t quite used to people like her yet.

(But they would be, Pappy had told her, very early on when he was still fine-tuning Rabbit’s motor skills. Once Walter Robotics took off and gave Moreau Robotics a run for their money, soon everyone would be able to have a robot friend of their own. Why, even whole towns might be made up of them someday.)

(Rabbit had daydreamed of that quite often when she was stuck on the slab, a whole town filled with robots just like her.)

_Focus._

Manners, she knew how to be polite. _Hello_ and _how do you do_ and all that. _My name is Rabbit, can you please help me?_ Or was it “may” in this situation? Rabbit was never quite sure…

She’d reached the door.

Rabbit dithered for a moment on the doorstep, playing out several conversations simultaneously inside her processor.

_Well… here goes nothing._

Rabbit lifted a hand and knocked carefully on the door.

Nothing happened at first. Rabbit tilted her head to listen. There was a soft shifting noise, maybe a cough. She knocked again, harder this time.

“Hello?” she called. “Could you please help me?” In the distance, an owl hooted again, and Rabbit hunched her shoulders up towards her ears.

“Hello?” She knocked again, hard enough that a couple dents appeared in the wood. “Please, someb-body, open the door!”

Soft padding noises from inside, and then the lock clicked and the door swung open to reveal an unshaven man in a nightcap and pajamas.

“For the love of—” The man clutched at his chest, eyes wide in surprise. “What’s this, now?”

“M-my name is Rabbit,” Rabbit said meekly, keeping her head low. “I g-got lost in the woods an I don’t wanna spend all night out here. Can I come in?”

“Of all the nights…” the man’s words trailed off and he rubbed his hands over his face. “Fine, fine, come in, then, but be quick about it. You’re letting in the chill.”

Beaming, Rabbit waltzed inside, shutting the door carefully behind her. The man busied himself for a moment at a wall lamp, and the entryway suddenly brightened.

“You’re one of Becile’s, I assume?” the man asked, looking Rabbit over. Rabbit shook her head.

“Naw, I’m just living there. Or was. Colonel Walter made me, did you know him?”

“Ah.” The man’s voice was sober. “I heard about that. Terribly sorry for the loss, he was one of the greatest minds of the Cavulcadium. Did he leave you to the Beciles when he died?”

Rabbit screwed up her face. “What? No! I j-just went to live there cause Ma didn’t have any money.”

“…Ma?”

“But that’s n-not important. Mister, you g-gotta help me. Can I stay the night? I’ll b-be on my way tomorrow morning—”

“Absolutely not! Has Mr. Becile released you from his service?”

Rabbit scowled. “He doesn’t own me.”

“Well then, who does? Certainly not Colonel Walter, God rest his soul.”

“Nobody! I’m… I’m a free robot!”

“No such thing.” The man crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ve got an identification file somewhere, I’m sure. Access it and tell me who owns you.”

Rabbit set her jaw. “Nothin’ doin’.”

“Well, then, I’m afraid you leave me no choice.” The man moved to a telephone hanging on the wall beside the lamp and picked up the receiver. “I’ll simply have to call the Beciles and tell them that I’ve come across some property of theirs that they need to come and pick up.”

A spark of fear trailed down Rabbit’s spine.

“You’re gonna call them?” she asked. “N-n-now? But it’s late, they’ll be an-an-angry.”

“Not as angry as they’d be knowing one of their automatons escaped,” the man remarked, holding down the button for the operator. “He really must program some sort of restrictions into you, I mean, _escaping from the house in the middle of the night_ , how does this _occur_ to a properly programmed automaton?”

“Hey, I’m pr-pr-programmed perfectly fine!” Rabbit insisted, hands placed stubbornly on her hips. “An’ if you don’t think so, why then I’ll j-just leave!”

“Not five minutes ago you were begging me for shelter,” the man said dryly. “Do you really plan on setting back out there with the coyotes, the foxes and the wolves?”

Rabbit set her jaw. Fine. If that’s the way it was gonna be, then she didn't need this guy anyway. Clenching her hand around the strap of her rucksack, she turned and stormed out of the house, not even bothering to close the door behind her.

Follow the path, they had to get into town someway from the house; just stay straight, go as fast as you can, you might make it before they find you. Ignore the sounds, the birds can’t hurt you, you can outrun the wolves. Just keep your head down and whatever you do, _keep moving._

_-_

Lights. Horses. Wheels bouncing in the dirt. Shouts. Rope. Someone fumbling at her back for her shutdown switch.

Struggling. Struggling.

_Power cut. Shutting down._

- 

“I’m disappointed in you, Rabbit.”

 

~ * ~


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, sorry this took so long. It's been a busy month, what with job-searching and helping my brother move house. Anybody else stoked for Quintessential next month? (Personally I'm most excited about seeing the music video for Malfunction. I sent in a submission a few weeks ago, but I didn't notice that it had to be widescreen. >.> Oh well. Still excited.)
> 
> This chapter ended up not having as many scenes in it as I wanted, but I wanted to give you guys something after waiting for so long. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Note: This all takes place in present day, though we'll be having another flashback next chapter.

Rabbit woke the next morning to an unfamiliar systems message ( _Backup power fully charged, memory upload successful_ ) and the sight of The Jon, leaning against the wall of the cubicle, optics gently shut in sleep.

For a moment Rabbit merely sat there, puzzled and unsure what to do. She could hear the other robots waking up, stirring in their cubicles as the hum of electricity throughout the building faded and waned, but Jon wasn’t connected. He hadn’t gotten the wake-up call.

Should Rabbit try and wake him up?

_Could_ she?

Gingerly, Rabbit unplugged herself from the machine, carefully closing the panel over the port in her head before re-tying her bandana and replacing her wig and hat. Jon snoozed on, metal ribs expanding and contracting with his bellows underneath his frilly black shirt and bright red suspenders.

“Jon?” Rabbit called. “It’s, uh, just about wake-up time, buddy.”

No response. Rabbit huffed, then scooted out of her seat to kneel on the floor in front of the other automaton.

“Jooooon,” she tried again, shaking The Jon’s shoulder. “Up and at ‘em! C-carpe diem! Spine’ll be looking for ya soon!”

Nothing. Rabbit twisted her lips to the side in thought.

_Hm… Maybe?_

She let out a whistle, trying to copy one of the songs she’d heard the birds outside the manor sing in the mornings. The reflected melody didn’t sound exactly right to her ears ( _rising-sun-time very good thing_ , her processor echoed), but hopefully The Jon would get the message.

“Hm…?” The Jon made a quiet sleepy sound and his eyebrow plates creased above his optics, but otherwise he didn’t move. Rabbit repeated the whistle ( _sun-very-up-time_ , it translated to this time, much to her disappointment), but before she could see if it had worked, the door to the cubicle opened and The Spine stepped inside.

“Good morning, Ra—” He paused, smile fading as he looked down at the two of them on the floor. “Why is The Jon in here?”

“I-I-I don’t kn-now,” Rabbit lied. “I just w-woke up and he was in here. I was tryin’ to wake him up, but it wasn’t workin’. Is he okay? I dunno how l-long he wasn’t plugged in for.”

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Spine said. “He’s frequently away from his charger.” He glanced back at The Jon and for a brief moment, his optics unfocused and grew dull. Rabbit startled; was that the telegraph system they had been talking about?

“Quesadilla!” Jon exclaimed, shooting upright before his eyes had even opened. Once they had, he looked blearily around at Rabbit and The Spine, rubbing at one eye tiredly. “What’s going on, guys?”

“You sleepwalked into Rabbit’s cubicle, apparently,” Spine said, his tone a bit stern. “What did I tell you about getting proper rest, Jon? You need to get at least six hours of charging a night to stay healthy. Michael’s worried enough about you as it is.”

“Sorry, Spine,” Jon said, contrite, “but Rabbit—” he twitched, then stopped short. “I just wanted to make sure Rabbit was okay.”

“Rabbit’s fine,” Spine reassured him. “Now let’s get a move on, Michael wanted us to show Rabbit around before lunch.”

He walked out of the cubicle, leaving the door open behind him. The Jon turned and smiled sheepishly at Rabbit.

“Thanks for reminding me,” he whispered. “I’d almost forgotten.”

Rabbit frowned. “Reminded you of what? I d-didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” The Jon replied cryptically, and skipped out of the room after The Spine. After a bewildered moment staring after him, Rabbit shook her head and followed. This place just kept getting weirder and weirder…

-

“Now, most automatons hold their own jobs in the town,” The Spine explained as the three of them made their way down the main street, away from the charging building. “Jon here, for instance, works in the stables, since he gets along so well with the horses, and I work in the saloon.”

“I can talk to them,” The Jon said proudly. “Cherry’s the friendliest, but most of them are happy to see me whenever they come in.”

“W-…whaddaya do in the saloon, Spine?” Rabbit asked, since that was a little bit of an easier pill to swallow than the thought of The Jon talking to animals.

“Bartend, mostly,” The Spine said. “Though in the evenings the Jon and I take part in the “Steam Man Band” outfit that you saw last night with Mister Reed. We’re quite a hit with the locals, if I do say so myself.”

“Y-you were good, from what I heard,” Rabbit said. “Were you, um. Were you _programmed_ to be music ‘bots, or did you guys hafta learn how to play instruments?”

“Oh, we learned!” The Jon chirped happily. “We learned lots—I can play the mandolin, I’ll show you later, and Spine learned the guitar and the piano, and I’m gonna learn the _drums_ —”

“We do have to be taught individual instruments,” The Spine explained, speaking over The Jon’s excited rambling, “but we have a basic aptitude assured by our construction and programming, yes. Michael and the other technicians at Moreau Robotics could explain it in more detail, if you’d like.”

“N-no thanks.” Rabbit let out a sigh and a burst of steam. “I just w-wanted to know if it was somethin’ you could be taught, or if you had to be pro-programmed with it.”

The Spine cocked his head. “Were you interested in becoming a performer?”

Rabbit shrugged. “I d-d-dunno about all that, but my Pappy always told me he was gonna give me mu-musical programming once he’d worked out all my other glitches, but it never ended up happening before he, well.” She swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Ah.” The Spine was quiet for a moment. “I see. I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

“’S’okay.” Rabbit forced a smile, trying to brighten the mood. “Ma’s still alive, at least last I heard.”

“Oh?” The Spine seemed confused. “Then what are you doing, wandering around in Balboa?”

“Spine!” Jon admonished. “You can’t just _ask_ people things like that! What if she was mean to her?” He looked to Rabbit anxiously. “She _wasn’t_ mean to you, was she?”

The gears in Rabbit’s chest crunched together and she blinked several times, trying to stave off the suddenly encroaching oil leak.

“No,” she croaked. “She w-w-wasn’t.”

When nothing else was forthcoming, The Spine cleared his throat (so they had organic habits, too?) and gestured at the house they were approaching on the left.

“Brianna’s residence,” he explained. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Jon stood back with Rabbit as The Spine went up and knocked on the door. Moments later a robot answered, with shining silver “skin” and inquisitive, silvery blue eyes.

“Hello, The Spine.” The robot’s voice was lilting, if a bit staccato. “Are you here to see Brianna?”

“Sure am,” The Spine said cheerfully. “Oh, Jenny, I have someone I want you to meet.”

“One moment, The Spine.” Jenny leaned back to face into the house and let out a four-note melody. “Brianna, your friend The Spine is here to escort you. Are you quite ready?”

“Just about!” a female voice called from inside. The Spine turned to Rabbit and beckoned her forward.

“Jenny, this is Rabbit,” he said once Rabbit had gotten closer. “She’s just joined us here in Balboa.”

Jenny turned her silver eyes on Rabbit and her delicate face plates immediately creased into a smile. “Pleased to meet you, Rabbit,” she said. “I was not aware that we were getting a new shipment so soon.”

“Oh, Rabbit isn’t from the factory,” The Spine corrected her. “She’s from an… independent engineer, isn’t that right?”

“Y-y-y-yes’m,” Rabbit said, unable to look away. Jenny’s face was so much more finely detailed than Delilah’s had been; her lips and jaw were humanoid in shape, her photoreceptors had eyelids, just like Rabbit’s own; she even had a dainty nose _sculpted_ from thin sheets of metal!

“H-how long did it take to _make_ you?” she breathed, sure as soon as she’d said it that it was a terribly rude question. Jenny only laughed, however, a light, tinkling sound that made Rabbit’s gears flutter in her chassis.

“My manufacturing time was approximately three months, eleven days, twelve hours, and five minutes,” she responded. “Many of my parts were pre-made to Moreau Robotics specifications, but my outer appearance was to be unique; I was made to be a companion to Miss Brianna, and Miss Moreau’s demands for me were very exact.”

“And I couldn't ask for a better robot,” Brianna said, coming up behind Jenny to lay an arm across the gentle slope of her shoulders. “I’m off now, Jenny. I’ll be back for lunch, all right?”

“Have a good day.” Jenny leaned down to peck a kiss against Brianna’s cheek, then gave a coy finger wave to Rabbit. “You too, Rabbit. Come back soon.”

A puff of steam curled from Rabbit’s cheeks and she skittered away to follow the others as they walked away from Brianna’s house and down towards the saloon.

“All right, Rabbit?” The Spine asked.

“Sh-sh-she, um.” Rabbit glanced over her shoulder. “Was she _flirting_ with me?”

Brianna grimaced apologetically. “She’s a bit forward, Rabbit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was going to do that or I would have warned Spine.”

“But…” Rabbit didn't understand. “She’s a robut. Why would she…” She trailed off, unsure how to articulate this. “I thought that was just human stuff, flirting. How can she b-be doing it?”

Brianna and Spine exchanged glances. Rabbit winced.

“Sorry, I kn-know you two are—well, I mean, I _asssssumed_ —” She covered her face, mortified. Why did nothing make sense anymore? Robuts makin’ advances like Pappies did to Mas, humans and robots dating and dancing and who knew what else. She knew it was an awful thing to think, but right now, Rabbit just wanted, desperately, to go home.

“ _Is she okay?_ ” The Jon asked from her right. Except that wasn't quite right; she hadn’t really heard Jon _speak_ , but rather make some sort of whistling noise, much like what Rabbit had done that morning to try and wake him up. Rabbit cocked her head, but before she could say anything, The Spine chirped out a stern “ _not here_ ,” and Jon cheeped back a quiet, chastened sound.

“Have you never met another robot before, Rabbit?” Brianna asked hurriedly, trying to smooth out the mood. Rabbit shrugged, but finally lowered her hands from her face.

“I m-m-met one, b-but she was nothing like any of y-y-you guys here. She didn’t even know how to talk right, kept calling herself a servant and thought I was, too, just ‘cause I w-was a robut and n-not a person.” She sniffed before she could catch herself. “N-n-no _way_ was she programmed to flirt with people.”

“No, she probably wasn't,” Brianna agreed. “But there are lots of types of robots, Rabbit. The one you met probably wasn't sentient in the way you, The Spine, and The Jon are.”

“Is Je-Jenny sentient?” Rabbit asked. She’d certainly _seemed_ so, but she’d never thought about how to tell before. She’d never even considered the possibility that Delilah wasn’t—she’d just thought she was stupid.

“More or less,” Brianna replied. “They’re still making adjustments to her brain, but I’d say so. Most of the Moreau robots are. Which means that they can hold jobs, fall in love, make friends, and, yes, flirt. Does that make sense at all?”

Rabbit grimaced. “I g-g-g-guess so.”

“It’s a lot to get used to, I know,” Brianna said sympathetically. “These boys only know it because they’ve been around other robots all their lives. You’ll catch on quick, I’m sure.”

“ _Thank you,_ ” The Spine whistled under his breath, wrapping an arm around her.

Rabbit looked away.

It wasn't that she was _against_ it, really—she’d heard many times from Pappy that love was a wonderful thing and very fulfilling to those who were in it, but… She’d never thought of it as something that applied to her. Oh, she’d loved Pappy and Ma, of course she had, but that was familial love. Love of her creator and the woman who had watched over her, taken such good care of her as she was learning the ways of the world.

But this? The idea that sentient automatons could fall in love, could touch and be close to one another in ways that went beyond the simple affection of the family?

Rabbit had always known that there was much left for her to learn, but the more she saw in Balboa, the more she realized that she had known absolutely nothing about the world.

An electric spray of numbers fritzed across her processor and she startled in surprise, looking down to see a golden hand curled protectively around her own.

“Do you want to come and see the horses, Rabbit?” The Jon asked her. His words were quiet, calm, but there was a heaviness in his eyes that made something in Rabbit’s chest click out of sync for a moment.

Had he…?

“Good idea, Jon,” The Spine cut in obliviously. “I’ll tell Michael where you’ve gone if he comes looking for you.”

“Okay.” And with no further goodbye, The Jon tightened his grip on Rabbit’s hand and pulled her past the others towards ones of the roads that split off from the main square like the spokes of a wheel.

“Y-y-ya okay there, Jon?” Rabbit asked once the stables had come into sight but The Jon still hadn’t said a word. “It’s just, ah. M-m-my hands—”

Jon’s hand loosened immediately.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he fretted. He held up Rabbit’s hand to study it, as if he could see through the glove and metal to the wires beneath. “I thought I was being gentle…”

“It-…It’s okay, Jon,” Rabbit said, puzzled. “It didn’t hurt that bad.”

“You just felt so _sad,_ ” Jon continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Thinking about your parents, and The Spine and Brianna… it’s okay if you never fall in love with anyone, Rabbit, most of us don’t. The Spine just wants to be human, so he does things the rest of us don’t really think about.”

Rabbit could only stand there in shock. “How did you—”

“It’s a long story.” The Jon looked up at her through his delicate metal eyelashes. “Do you want to see the horses, Rabbit? I’m sure Cherry would love to meet you.”

“I… Sure.” And Rabbit followed him into the stables, where she was greeted by a row of softly whickering horses who pushed their noses into The Jon’s hand as he walked by, and tossed their manes and snorted as he selected several apples from a nearby barrel to offer each of them in turn.

“That’s Pipe,” Jon said, pointing to a copper-colored horse with a dark mane. “One of the work robots named him. And that’s Brian, and this is Scuttle, and that one’s Henry…”

Rabbit watched in awe as each horse flicked their ears in response to their name, nudging their heads forward again in the hopes of getting another treat. Jon only patted their noses, however, and then finally came to a beautiful red-brown horse on the end with a striking black mane and white socks above his hooves.

“This is Cherry,” The Jon said proudly. “Isn’t he beautiful, Rabbit? You can pet him, if you want.”

“He w-won’t bite or nothin’?” Rabbit asked, warily shuffling a few steps forward.

The Jon shook his head. “No, he’s the friendliest horse I’ve ever met! And I’ve met a lot of them. Here, just put your hand out and touch his nose. He’s really soft—oh.” He looked chastened. “I forgot about your hands again.”

Rabbit frowned.

“It’s r-r-really okay, Jon,” she said. “I-I-I can still feel soft an’ hard, I’m used to it by now.” She reached out a hand and stroked gently once down Cherry’s nose. “It’s n-not that bad, just complicated, on account of I gotta do math to figure it out. But M-M-Michael’s gonna fix my hands today,” she amended quickly as Jon’s face fell, “An’ then I’ll be able to feel just like new again, so p-please don’t worry about it.”

The Jon sniffed and laid his head on Henry’s muzzle. “Okay.”

Rabbit hesitated.

“I g-gotta ask, though,” she said, stroking a finger down Cherry’s mane. “How d’you keep knowin’ what I’m thinking all the time? You knew I didn’t want to tell Spine about what happened, an’ you kn-knew about Pappy—”

“It’s complicated, like I said.” The Jon looked miserable.

“Y-you can tell me, though.” Rabbit tried to arrange her face into something that looked reassuring. “W-w-we can be complicated together.”

The Jon hiccupped a laugh but didn’t respond immediately. Rabbit waited, patient.

“I.. I just know things, sometimes,” The Jon said at last. His nimble fingers played for a moment with his suspenders, then he peered for a moment out the stable door. “…Can you keep a secret?”

“Like the best of ‘em.” Rabbit put a hand over her core. “Swear to Pappy.”

“Okay.” The Jon twisted his fingers together nervously. “Michael thinks I’m going to break soon.”

That hadn’t been what Rabbit was expecting.

“He’s w-w-worried about ya, sure,” she said. “Him an’ Spine both are. But what’s that got to do with you kn-knowing things?”

“That’s why he thinks I’m breaking,” The Jon said, voice plaintive. “The talking to the horses, everything. It’s because of my—well, I guess it isn’t a core anymore.”

Electricity prickled down Rabbit’s spine.

“Jon…?” she asked warily. “W-w-what’s going on?”

Jon glanced once more towards the entrance to the stables, then slowly slid his suspenders down his arms and began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Don’t tell Michael,” he whispered once the fabric hung open, a gleaming line of brass shining through. “He hasn’t seen it yet. I haven’t let him work on me since…” He trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words, then finally opened up his chest plate to reveal a dark, blue-black void, swirling in the space where his internal workings ought to be.

Rabbit didn’t know what to say.

“I… take it you weren’t built with that feature,” she joked weakly, watching the little orange koi make another revolution in the waterless, gravity-less expanse inside The Jon’s chest.

The Jon shook his head. “I had a core when I started, just like everybody else. Then one day it just… started leaking.” He looked down at the void, expression a mix of pensive and melancholy. “I was gonna tell Michael, ‘cause blue matter on its own can be dangerous to humans, but it doesn’t come out of me. It just stays there. And it doesn’t hurt Bella, so I thought it can’t be all bad, right?”

“Right.” Rabbit watched, silently, for a moment. “Jon… are ya sure you don’t wanna tell Michael? What if it gets worse?”

“I can’t,” Jon sniffed. “He’ll shut me down, and then Bella will die. Even if Michael’s new robot replaces me in the band, I still need to take care of her.”

“W-w-wait, new robot?”

“Yeah.” Jon wiped at his eyes. “He needs to make one so he can work with Miss Moreau at the factory. It’s a blue matter robot, which means it’s gonna be able to sing like we can, and then…” More tears bubbled up beneath his optics. “He’s going to…to…”

“It’s okay,” Rabbit shushed him as a choking noise crackled out of his voice box. “You’re okay, Jon, he’s n-n-not gonna turn you off. I w-wouldn’t let him, there’s nothin’ wrong with you.”

Cherry whickered and stepped forward in his stall to press his nose against The Jon’s hat and snort. Jon laughed wetly, stroking the horse’s muzzle with one hand.

“I’m okay, Cherry,” he said. “Did you hear? Rabbit’ll take care of me. You can trust her.”

Cherry huffed, flicking an ear, then stepped back to return to his hay. Rabbit looked at Jon, eyebrow raised.

“I’m g-g-gonna need a translation for that one, b-buddy.”

Jon, smiling, only shook his head as he straightened his wig. “It’s nothing. Oh! Would you want to take the horses out with me? They need their exercise, and it’s lots of fun!”

He’d certainly recovered quickly. “All-all right,” Rabbit said, “but only if you put your clothes back on first. Don’t wanna go around showin’ all that off to everybody.”

The Jon ducked his head and immediately fastened his chest plate shut.

-


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry about the wait, things have been really busy this past month. x_x Disgustingly happy about Quintessential, though- I Don't Have a Name For It is probably the cutest song I've ever heard and Sam's songs are absolute gold. Gonna have that on repeat for the next few weeks, I'm sure. :P
> 
> The chapter's a little short, I'm sorry about that, but the plot's gonna get a nice new development next chapter. :3 Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Note: This chapter deals with the aftermath of trauma, both physically and emotionally. Take care if that sort of thing bothers you.

Michael found them later, leading Cherry around the fenced-in enclosure behind the barn. They were too heavy to ride the horses, The Jon had explained sadly, but they could always try racing them. (Rabbit had declined, a bit perplexed by the idea.)

“Hey, guys,” Michael said, clambering over the fence to sit along the top rail. “Having fun?”

Jon nodded exuberantly, rushing over and leaving Rabbit with Cherry’s reins. “I introduced Rabbit to the horses, Michael, and Cherry really likes her! She’s really good at walking them, too, she’s been helping me.”

Michael smiled at him just like how mothers smiled at their children in Rabbit’s picture books. “That’s great, Jon. Do you mind if I take Rabbit back with me to the shop now? I’m ready to fix her hands.”

Jon’s expression faltered slightly. “Oh.” He turned to look at Rabbit, eyebrows creased. “Do you have to do it right away? We’re having so much fun…”

“Jon.” Michael’s tone was gentle but stern. “She’ll be fine. Have I ever hurt you or Spine?”

Jon scuffed his foot in the dirt. “Well no, but…” He looked up. “…Can I come watch?”

Michael paused. “That’s up to Rabbit.” He glanced over. “What do you think?”

Rabbit hesitated, clenching her hands around the reins self consciously. Jon hadn’t seen the crushed remains of her fingertips yesterday; Rabbit had all but told him and The Spine to go because she hadn’t _wanted_ them to see. But today… Jon knew how much Rabbit’s hands were hurting her. He’d all but cried at the thought of Rabbit being in pain, and if nothing else… he’d let himself be acutely vulnerable and show Rabbit a secret of his own.

He deserved to be trusted in return.

“He ca-can come,” Rabbit said at last. “Wa-wa-wanna help me put Cherry back in the stable, Jon?”

The expression that spread across The Jon’s face in response was no less than beatific.

 -

The slab awaited her when she entered the workshop, cold and metal and exactly the same as yesterday, except now merely the sight of it sent Rabbit’s cogs into overdrive and she felt the heat of anxiety building up quickly underneath her chest plate.

“D-do I, um.” Her vocal assembly fritzed and she looked frantically around the room, desperate to find something that wouldn’t remind her of what was about to happen. “Do I n-need to be stra-stra-strapped down for this?”

“Not if you don’t want to be,” Michael said smoothly, as The Jon’s hand tightened around Rabbit’s arm in support. “I can just power you down and then there’ll be no danger to me to work on you unrestrained. Or did you want to be awake?”

Rabbit trembled. Powering down, even just for repairs, was dangerous; asleep, she wouldn't be able to watch out for error signals, wouldn’t be able to tell if anything had been removed, wouldn't be able to fight back if she needed to. She’d be utterly at Michael’s mercy, helpless until he decided to power Rabbit back on.

But… if she decided to stay awake throughout the proceedings, she’d have to watch as Michael disconnected her hand again. She’d most likely have to be restrained, and what if she went into another flashback? It’d be faster and easier for everyone involved if she just let Michael turn her off.

There was a soft exhale of steam to her right, and Rabbit looked down at the golden hand still resting gently on her arm.

She’d almost forgotten—she wasn’t alone. The Jon would be with her while Michael worked on her, would be watching over her to keep her safe.

…Well, that might not be exactly what The Jon had in mind, but for Rabbit’s purposes, it worked. At the very least she trusted Jon to not let Michael hurt her (not that she thought Michael _would_ , she corrected herself, but you never really _knew…_ ).

“Okay,” Rabbit said at last. “I’ll go to sleep.”

 -

It didn't take long to set everything up. Michael lined up his tools alongside the slab, pliers and wires and new, pristine pads still encased in their box, and Rabbit hoisted herself up along with encouragement from The Jon.

“It won’t take very long at all, you’ll see,” he said as Rabbit laid back, turning her head to the side so she didn't have to face the lights hanging from the ceiling. “Michael’s the best mechanic in all of Balboa, he’ll get it done in… in two minutes, I bet.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jon,” Michael said, “but it’ll take more than that _per finger_ if we want me to do a good job. I have to make sure I disconnect everything properly, get all of the old pieces out, and _then_ I have to solder everything back in. It’ll probably take at least an hour.”

“It’s f-f-f-fine,” Rabbit said shortly. “It’s not li-li-liiiike ‘m gonna n-notice, bein’ turned off. Jus’ don’t lollygaggle about it.”

“I won’t,” Michael reassured her. “Now, are you ready to get rid of these old pads?”

Rabbit flexed her fingers, then looked up at The Jon, who offered her a comforting smile.

She could do this.

And as Michael reached behind her to flip down her shut-off switch, Rabbit felt a gentle pressure on the back of her hand, and then… nothing.

 

~ * ~

 

Water.

Her boiler desperately, desperately needed water.

Rabbit cracked open her optics, staring blankly at the dimly lit wall opposite.

Where was she?

She tried to move her head, but the electrical impulses were too weak. Steam curled in thin wisps from her cheek vents, then trailed away into nothing. Far away, at the ends of her arms, her fingers spasmed.

Pain.

That’s all that Rabbit could remember, all-encompassing pain that had wreaked havoc on her systems. Even now, error messages still flashed tiredly in the background of her conscious processes.

“Water…” The word dragged itself up from Rabbit’s throat, clawing its way out of a torn and straining speaker. She coughed at the irritation and then swallowed, letting out a thin trickle of oil to lubricate the parts. “Is—…is anyone there…?”

No one answered.

A prickle of fear bled through Rabbit’s chassis. “An-anyone…?” She pulled at the straps futilely, panic lending some strength to her limbs but nowhere near enough to allow her to escape. “Hey! _Hey!_ ”

In the distance, the clicking of footsteps echoed down a hallway. Rabbit’s acute hearing picked it up, analyzed it—

Becile.

A shudder of fear and revulsion overcame her chassis, but Rabbit forced herself still. Becile was her only chance at getting out of here.

The doorknob clicked, then turned, and then a light flashed on, illuminating the lab. Rabbit could see the familiar worktable out of the corner of her eye. Her hat was on it, slightly dusty, but the goggles were nowhere to be seen.

“Are you awake?” Becile called.

Rabbit’s head jerked the wrong way as she tried to nod. “Mmmmmm y-y-yeah.” It hurt to speak. “W-w-w-waaaaater, n-need water, please.”

There was no response from Becile. For a frozen, core-stopping moment, Rabbit was terrified that she’d put Becile off, demanding something from him so soon. But then the lab coat crinkled, Rabbit heard footsteps moving in the direction of the sink, and she let out a long, shaking breath from her bellows.

_Manners, Rabbit. Be a good little robot, and you’ll get out of here alive._

The sink ran, shut off. Becile’s footsteps approached. Rabbit’s fingers spasmed again, involuntarily, around the chair arms.

_Water. Electricity. Pain._

“Open up,” Becile ordered tersely. Rabbit obeyed, the mechanism of her jaw trembling slightly as she did so. Apparently this wasn’t good enough for Becile, who grumbled and put a hand on the back of Rabbit’s skull, tilting her head backwards and opening her mouth wider before pouring the water down her throat.

Rabbit coughed; Becile hadn’t given her enough time to swallow it on her own, instead pouring it directly down into her boiler, and some of it had splashed over into the wrong pipe. Despite the discomfort, however, the water had helped; she was out of the danger zone, for now, anyway. A few more cups would make her much more comfortable, but she didn’t dare ask at the moment.

“Hands.” Becile hardly even waited for Rabbit to turn her wrists over before grabbing at them, examining the sensory pads.

“A-a-a-a-are they broken?” Rabbit couldn't help but ask. They definitely _felt_ broken, sending her mixed and corrupted messages about whether she was touching a surface or air. Her right middle finger in particular wouldn't stop twitching, the electrical impulse creating a feedback loop that occasionally sent twinges of pain all the way up her arm. “Are you gonna fi-fi-fix them?”

“Fix them?” Becile finally looked at her, raising his eyebrows incredulously. “What’s there to fix?”

Her audio processors must not be functioning properly. Rabbit tilted her head and tried again. “They hurt.”

“They’re malfunctioning.” Becile waved away the complaint. “They’ll adapt, once the last of the water’s out. It shouldn't take much longer.”

No. Surely Becile didn't mean to _leave_ her like this? Rabbit’s gears clicked faster in her chest.

“B-b-b-b-but how am I supposed to _touch_ anything?” she asked. “They w-won’t—”

“Tell me the pressure output.” Becile pressed Rabbit’s fingertips against his own hand. Despite the haywire messages, Rabbit picked out a few plausible numbers. Averaged them.

“Good. Again.” More pressure. The sensation was almost painful this time, but Rabbit dutifully recited more numbers.

“Good.” Becile released her. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours to put the caps back on. I recommend you go into stasis; if Colonel Walter gave you any self-repairing protocols, they’ll do their work in the meantime.”

No. Nononononono, he couldn't _leave_ Rabbit down here! Rabbit struggled against the straps again but they continued to hold, and another round of error messages blared from her fingertips. She wanted to sob.

“Don’t make such a fuss, you’ll be perfectly all right.” Becile checked his watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“G-g-g-goggles.”

“What?”

“Pappy’s g-g-goggles,” Rabbit panted, straining through the hard consonants. “W-where are they, can I have them?” If she had Pappy’s goggles, even just sitting in her lap in the darkness with her, then maybe the hours of silence would be that much more tolerable.

But Becile leveled her with a disturbingly calm gaze. “I’ve confiscated them.”

The bottom dropped out of Rabbit’s boiler. “You… what?”

“You misbehaved terribly tonight, Rabbit. Do you honestly think I’d give them back after such a display?”

Rabbit’s jaw shook, her processor racing with words that failed before they reached her tongue. “But… but…” _…they’re mine, they were Pappy’s, you shouldn’t be touching them, you shouldn't have taken them, GIVE THEM BACK—_

“I’m keeping them until you’ve proven to me that you can be a respectful member of this household. Is that understood?”

“But…” Oil brimmed underneath Rabbit’s photoreceptors. “…They were mine.”

Becile made a quiet noise through his nose and turned to leave. “Two hours, Rabbit. I recommend stasis.” And with that he flicked off the light switch and closed the door, plunging Rabbit back into darkness.

 

~ * ~

 

_Initializing start up sequence._

_Core online._

_Resuming processes… Checking systems… New hardware found. Installing…_

_Installation complete. G.o.o.d. m.o.r.n.i.n.g, R.a.b.b.i.t._

“Rabbit?”

Michael’s face appeared in Rabbit’s vision, eyebrows furrowed underneath the goggles he’d pushed up over his forehead. “Everything okay?”

“J-j-just peachy.” Rabbit forced a small smile. “I’ve n-never had my internals say good-good mornin’ to me before.”

“Say—” Michael looked confused. “Oh, that must have come along with the new hardware. Do you want me to take it out?”

“N-n-nah, it’s nice.” Rabbit looked around the workshop, studiously Not Thinking About the new fingertips. She wasn’t noticing any signals coming from them yet, anyway—Michael was probably waiting to turn them on. “Where’s The Jon?”

“I told him to step out for a bit,” Michael replied. “He was getting really anxious and kept getting in the way. I think being in the same room as Hatchworth creeps him out a little.”

Rabbit frowned. “With what now?”

“Oh.” Michael looked a little embarrassed. “That’s the name of the robot I’m working on, at least for now, anyway. He’s over there.” He gestured towards one wall of the workshop where Rabbit could see a set of detailed brass hands lying on a table beside what appeared to be a small stove. A piece of what might have been a jaw lay nearby.

So that was what The Jon had been talking about earlier. He was worried that Michael was going to replace him with a stove? Rabbit wasn't sure what to think. Was The Jon simply overreacting, or was Michael truly a good enough mechanic to turn that lump of metal into an automaton?

“Ready to sit up and try them out?” Michael asked.

Rabbit closed her optics. There was nothing to be afraid of. They were just new fingertips, nothing special, nothing like her eye. At the very least, she wouldn't have to worry about the static anymore, or have to deal with the confusion of never quite _knowing_ how hard she was holding an object. These were good things. So why was she so…

“What do I gotta do?” she gritted out, firmly cutting off that train of thought.

“Well, sitting up first might help.” Despite the joke, Michael’s voice was patient. “Do you need me to help pull you up?”

“No, I got it.” Jerkily, Rabbit forced her chassis upwards, then slid her legs one by one over the edge of the slab. Her hands hung, limply, below her wrists. At the ends of her fingers, the naked pads glinted.

“Ready for me to turn them on?” Michael asked.

Not trusting her voice not to glitch, Rabbit nodded wordlessly. Michael’s mouth twisted to the side.

“They should work just like the ones you’re used to,” he said reassuringly. “The ones I took out looked just like the ones we use, and the new ones fit in just fine. You shouldn't have to convert the signals at all.”

“Yeah… just turn ‘em on, okay?” Rabbit regretted her tone immediately, but Michael said nothing as he picked up one hand and plugged in the cords that would restore feeling and function. There was a twitch of electricity, and then—

_Right hand online. Calibrating software…_

“Try touching something,” Michael suggested. Rabbit hesitated, then slowly reached out and pressed a finger against the slab below her.

One number.

One blessed, clear, crisp number.

Rabbit let out a quiet sob of joy and pressed the rest of her fingers against the surface, alternating the pressure over and over again until she was almost dizzy from the data.

“I take it it worked,” Michael said with a smile. “You ready for the other one?”

“Y-y-yeah, yeah…” Rabbit pressed her hand against her face, feeling traces of the cool metal and the warmth of the steam wafting out from her cheek vents. “It’s just li-like bein’ new again. Nothin’ like when Be—” She cut herself off.

Michael, done plugging in the second hand, looked up at her sharply. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine, fine.” _Left hand online. Calibrating…_ “’S nothing.”

“Rabbit.” Michael fixed her with a stern gaze. Rabbit squirmed.

“It’s nuh-nuh-nothing, really. Had an eye replaced once. Not much fun.” She looked down at her hands, now clasped in her lap. “Can I have my caps back now?”

“Paige has to finish smoothing them out first,” Michael said. “I gave them to her while you were powered down. She should be done in a few minutes.” He didn't back down. “Rabbit… why _do_ you have two different colored eyes?”

“I t-t-told ya,” Rabbit said defensively, “I had one repla-pla-placed. Is that a crime?”

“No,” Michael said. “But I’m betting it wasn’t your creator who did it, was it?”

Rabbit’s hands clenched into fists.

_Can’t move, tied down, can’t see—_

_Foreign material in eye. Photoreceptor offline._

_Bright light, damage imminent—_

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered.

“Michael?”

The two turned to see The Jon peering around the doorframe, shoulders hunched up around his ears. “Can I come back in, now?”

“…Yeah, sure, Jon.” Michael glanced back at Rabbit, who was taking deep, measured breaths into her bellows to try and keep herself calm. _Manners, Rabbit. Manners._. “Did Paige say how much longer she’d be on the fingers?”

“Just five minutes, I think.” Jon shuffled forward until he was only a foot or so from the slab. “Are they better now?”

Rabbit mustered up a weak grin and brandished her new pads. “Y-y-yep. No m-more math, Jon, isn’t it great? ‘M gonna get lazy now.”

The Jon didn’t smile at the joke.

“You can tell him,” he said in an anxious voice. “He won’t hurt you, or send you back.”

“Send her back where?” Michael asked.

“N-n-nowhere,” Rabbit snapped. “He d-d-don’t know what he’s talking about.”

But Jon didn’t seem to hear her.

“Back to the house in the woods,” he replied obliviously. The blue of his photoreceptors glowed unnaturally bright as he spoke. “Where the bad man broke her eye and took out her parts. She doesn’t want to go back.”

“She doesn't have to,” Michael said, eyeing Rabbit carefully. “I told her she could stay here until she figured out what she wanted to do.”

“Sssstop it, both of you!” Rabbit clutched at her head, fingers clawing through her wig in a desperate bid for friction, but the newly-exposed pads were much more sensitive than she’d been expecting; warning signs flashed across her processor and she was forced to let go, whimpering from overstimulation. “I don’t wwwwwanna talk about it, I sssssSAID I don’t wwanna talk about it, I—”

Her head tic’ed to the side, and The Jon’s eyes, suddenly growing lucid, widened in alarm.

“Rabbit—”

“No! I’m n-n-n-n-not gonna, I—you-you-you c-c-c-can’t m-m-make me!” Frantic with fear and malfunctions, Rabbit pushed herself off of the slab, but before she’d even gone two steps her knees glitched out and she fell heavily to the floor.

_No no no nooo—_ Involuntary sobs wracked Rabbit’s chassis as she desperately tried to inch forward, pulling herself along by her forearms. She couldn't break down, not here, not now, she didn’t want to go back to Becile, they couldn’t make her go, couldn't make her tell them what had happened, she wouldn't, she _wouldn’t_ , she—

“Jon, _help me_ , she’s—”

“Sorry, Rabbit…”

And then there was a hand again, pressing against her shutdown switch, and with a final whispered “no,” Rabbit slipped once again into nothingness.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, references galore in this one! Or at the very least, some nods towards several other fics/authors and videos that I want to take a second to mention (even tho I'm a bit late in doing so >.>):
> 
> First, a big tip of the hat to InterNutter for their idea of a chirping/musical language for the bots. That aspect of their fics really captured me when I first read them, and I needed to incorporate that into mine.
> 
> Secondly, TheTetrarch: Partially for their idea of a telegraph/internal communication system among the bots (yes, most of the fandom believes in/uses the device of the Walter WiFi, but it was Tetrarch's fic that really got me thinking about it), and also for their absolutely amazing approach to robot "biology"- I've been doing my best throughout this fic to try and make things believable, but your fic is above and beyond anything else I've seen in this fandom.
> 
> Third, I'm basing a little bit of Rabbit's behavior/demeanor off of this video, at least in this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iS2ldJkZf4k It's not the best quality interview, but I enjoy it for Jon's behavior (never enough reference material for him, he's a tricky bugger). Bunny just looks very uncomfortable in it (and honestly, in a lot of interviews?) and so I tried to translate some of that into this fic's shy, abused-Rabbit personality.
> 
> More references will be mentioned in the notes below, to avoid "spoilers" :P I hope you guys enjoy the chapter.

“D… E… A…”

_Snap!_

Silence.

_Shave shave shave…_

“D…E…A…R…M…A…”

_Snap!_

Silence.

The pencil strained, wood cracking minutely as Rabbit’s grip momentarily tightened around what was left of the stub.

_Shave shave shave…_

“DEAR MA, I—”

_Snap!_

Rabbit flung the pencil hard against the floor, pressing the heels of her hands against her optics as she resisted the urge to shout out a curse. (Yes, she knew quite a few; Ma wouldn't have been pleased to know it, but she’d heard Pappy grumble enough while he was working…)

Her fingers had been all but useless ever since Becile had short circuited them, no matter that all the water had evaporated. The tiny wires that provided her with information about pressure and texture and position were _delicate_ , and Becile hadn’t just submerged them, he’d done physical damage when he’d unscrewed Rabbit’s finger caps improperly. The result was a set of fingers that never could tell Rabbit just how tightly she was holding an object, which kept leading to the unintended breaking of almost everything Rabbit touched. She’d hardly even dared to drink for the past several days, frightened of breaking a glass and angering Becile further.

Her processor had tried its best to catch up, developing and testing hypotheses for interpreting the wildly inaccurate numbers she was receiving from her fingers, but the extra load was exhausting; Rabbit had only managed to stay awake for ten hours out of the first twenty-four, post-incident. Now, four days in, she was managing about thirteen, but that was nowhere near enough.

She had to get out.

And so she returned to her writing.

 

*

 

~~Dea*~~

~~Dear Ma*~~

~~Dear Ma, I*~~

Ma, I wuz a bad robot again, or at least Mr. Becile says I wuz. I didnt mean to be. Please dont ~~reed~~ read his letter, I didnt run away to be bad. I did it cuz I miss you so much and I cant stay heer anymore. I know you cant aford to take me back yet, but it isnt safe. He wants ~~sum~~ something that Pappy made, I dont know what, but hes gonna break me to get it.

…He hurt me, Ma. He took off my fingers and put them in water and it hurt and he broke them and wont fix them and he took Pappys goggles and I dont want to stay heer anymore. Please com back and get me, I dont want him to break me again.

 

I’m so sorry I wuz a bad robot. Please dont be mad at me, I didnt mean to be bad again. I just miss you and I want to com home.

 

Love,

Rabbit

 

~ * ~

 

_The operating system was incorrectly shut down. Restoring from last save…_

“Rabbit?”

_Systems check normal. Core functioning: normal. BEBOP system online. QWERTY operating system online. G.O.O.D.M.O.R.N.I.N.G.,R.A.B.B.I.T._

“Is she okay, Michael?”

“Give her a second, she’s loading back up.”

_Re-orientation package: acquired. Uploading…_

Rabbit groaned and then sat up.

Or at least she tried to; soft leather belts caught at her chest and wrists before she’d managed to lift herself more than a couple of inches. Her eyes shot open. “Michael…?”

“Sorry about that, Rabbit.” Michael moved immediately to untie the belts. “You were glitching pretty hard before you shut down all the way. We were just taking precautions.”

“It’s-it’s-it’s o-kkkay.” Rabbit’s head tic’ed to the side again. “I’m fffffeeeling mmmuch better now.”

“ _She’s still doing it,_ ” The Jon chirped in a wavering, anxious tone. “ _Why is she still doing it?_ ”

“ _Calm,_ ” Michael whistled back. His note was a bit more stilted than The Jon’s, but translated in Rabbit’s processor all the same. “You sure about that?” he then asked Rabbit. “Looks like you’re still glitching to me.”

“It’ll go away in a—” _tic!_ “—minute.” Carefully, Rabbit tried once again to sit up, and was relieved when her joints cooperated smoothly this time. “Look, fellas, I’m rrrreally sorry about all that befo-fo-fore—”

“It’s not your fault,” Michael said firmly. “Jon and I pushed you way too far, and I’m sorry we did that. It’s none of our business what happened to you before you came here, and you shouldn't have to tell us if you don't want to. I won’t ask anymore.”

Rabbit was silent for a moment.

“That’s… r-really nice of you guys,” she said at last. “But Jon… I gotta ask you a favor.”

The Jon edged forward slightly, clutching at Michael’s shoulder. “Yeah?”

“From now on… if you ever r-r-read anythin’, or see anythin’, or _w-w-whatever_ you wanna call it…” Rabbit swallowed. “D-don’t talk about it, okay? It’s not stuff I want people to know.”

“O-okay…” Jon looked down at the floor and shuffled backwards a step or two. “I’m sorry…”

Michael looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment, but didn’t comment.

“Paige brought in your fingertips while you were out,” he said softly. “Do you want me to put them on you now?”

Rabbit glanced over apathetically at the tips as Michael brought them over from the worktable. They were definitely hers, she could tell even despite the buffing and cleaning Paige had given them, but even the knowledge that it would be Pappy’s machinery going back on her fingers wasn't enough to tingle her circuits. She was fixed, now—Michael had all but completed his work on her, and there was no other reason for her to stay in Balboa, especially since it was obvious that Ma wasn’t here. She would probably need to get back to San Diego somehow, but the city was large, and what if Ma didn’t want to see her anymore? She’d been a naughty, ungrateful robot for much of her time at Becile’s; maybe Ma had decided that she didn't want Rabbit to be part of the family anymore.

Rabbit’s oil lines constricted deep within her chassis.

She was all alone now.

Her boiler felt cold.

“Rabbit?” Michael looked concerned. Rabbit forced a smile, the left half of her mouth quirking up and down erratically a few times before she gave up.

“Y-y-y-yeah, that’s fine,” she said. “Let’s get this o-o-over with.”

No purpose, no family; why did Pappy have to die before teaching Rabbit how to play music? She had no tangible usefulness without her programming, was only a sentient machine that didn’t know what to do with the gift it had been given. A mechanical child whose only purpose was to use up time and resources and give nothing useful in return.

“Rabbit…”

Rabbit shot a glare at The Jon. “Don’t. Say. Nothin’.”

Michael, tightening the third cap back on, pressed his lips together but didn't respond.

It felt as though static electricity were building up around Rabbit’s core. Oil had begun to back up in her eyes’ lubricating ducts, and the gears in her chest were starting to clunk together in an irregular rhythm that made her chassis feel tight and off-kilter. Rabbit watched fixatedly as Michael continued to reapply her fingertips, trying to keep her attention on _something_ besides her own internal electronics, but her processor kept noting discrepancies in her memory files as they were recorded.

_Data not transcribed for .005 seconds in time parameters of 11:05:37 to 11:05:38… Data not transcribed for .15 seconds in time parameters of 11:05:45 to 11:05:46. Data not transcribed for .5 seconds in time parameters of 11:05:52 to 11:05:54…_

And then suddenly, Rabbit’s hands were back.

“There you go,” Michael said, laying his tools back down on the worktable. “Good as new. They feel okay?”

When had that happened? Rabbit felt slightly off-balance but said nothing as she flexed her fingers, then tried once more to touch each finger to its thumb.

Each flat surface connected correctly. The data was no longer overwhelming, no longer required interpreting or dampening to be tolerable.

It was just like being new again.

“They’re great,” Rabbit said quietly. “Th-th-thanks, Michael.”

“No problem.” Michael chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then looked up at The Jon, eyebrows raised. “You guys wanna go and meet Spine at the saloon? I’ve just gotta clean up a little and then I’ll be along.”

The Jon frowned. “Meet…? Oh.” He shrugged. “Okay, then. C’mon, Rabbit, I’ll take you.” And then with no further preamble he shuffled out of the room.

Rabbit looked towards Michael to explain this peculiar behavior, but the mechanic had already busied himself with his tools, face closed off as he wiped them down with an oil-stained cloth. Rabbit hesitated.

Had she missed something? Perhaps she’d offended them; she _had_ been rather rude, just now—Ma and Pappy would definitely not have appreciated her manner towards The Jon.

But those were private memories, and Jon somehow was able to see into them and then blab about them to anyone who would listen! Surely Rabbit was justified in some measure of defensiveness?

Perhaps she was being too sensitive. Pappy had told her once of a young man he had met on his travels: astute in his observations, but lacking sorely in tact.

“We must always be respectful towards the gifts others were born with,” Pappy had told her during a lesson in manners, “even if they do not always correspond to what we think of as good and proper.”

Rabbit did not particularly feel like respecting Jon’s gift, no matter what Pappy had said. But she supposed she’d have to, if only to not alienate the only friends she’d managed to make since leaving home.

With one more hesitant glance towards Michael, Rabbit heaved a quiet sigh and shuffled out of the room to rejoin The Jon.

 

~ * ~

 

The Spine looked up, concerned, from the glass he was polishing as The Jon’s voice came in frantically (and loudly) through the telegraph system.

“ _Spine, SPINE, I need your help! Michael’s sending me over with Rabbit and she’s feeling really really sad and doesn’t know what she wants to do with herself and she’s gotten like this before and—I don’t think I’m allowed to talk about this but it’s really bad, Spine, you need to come up with something to fix it or I don’t know what’s going to happen—_ ”

_“Jon, buddy, take a minute and calm down,_ ” The Spine broke in over The Jon’s rambling. “ _Or at the very least re-tune your frequency, everyone in here can hear you._ ” Piper was shooting daggers at him with her eyes from across the room.

“ _Oh. Sorry._ ” The Jon’s internal “voice” was much quieter this time. “ _Better?_ ”

“ _Much._ ” Spine glanced around at the other servers and smiled apologetically. “ _Now, what’s this about Rabbit?_ ”

“ _She’s really sad, Spine,_ ” The Jon said plaintively. “ _She can’t go back home ‘cause she doesn't know where that is, but she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do here. Can you please come up with something to help her? I’m not smart enough…_ ”

“ _Now, Jon._ ” The Spine put down his glass, nudging it carefully into place among the others. “ _Don’t put yourself down like that, you’re plenty smart enough. Is there something that Rabbit’s good at, or likes to do?_ ”

Jon’s shrug was practically palpable. “ _She likes her mom. And her goggles. And she liked playing her melodica, before she ran away._ ”

“Hmm…” The door to the saloon swung open, admitting The Jon and Rabbit, both of whom looked absolutely miserable. It wasn’t _obvious_ , exactly, but The Spine had grown accustomed to reading the nuances of expression available to the human (and human-inspired) face.

Rabbit was doing a marginally better job at faking it, lips twisted up in a quirky grin and eyebrows lifted high over forcibly widened optics, but The Spine could still see the tiny tremors as her facial hydraulics shook under the strain. The Jon, on the other hand, was broadcasting his inner turmoil loud and clear through his incessant fidgeting and the random sparks of worry he continued to send across the telegraph.

What in the world could have happened since this morning to discomfit the two of them so much?

Well. That wasn’t The Spine’s problem. The Jon _had_ asked him to help Rabbit, though, and he would do his best to do so. There was something going on that Rabbit wasn’t telling them about, but The Spine had his suspicions.

There were only a few things in this world that would make a robot that withdrawn.

“Would you like some water with a slice of lemon?” he asked cheerfully as the two of them approached the counter. “It’ll spruce up your insides, make them smell nice and fresh.”

“Mm, no thanks,” said Rabbit. She sat gingerly on a stool, then smiled and rocked back and forth a little when it didn’t creak under her weight. “How’s the b-b-b-bar been, buddy?”

“Oh, it’s been going. A little slow, but that’s how it is in the mornings.” The Spine turned to The Jon with an encouraging smile. “Anything I can get for you, champ? The usual?” He paused. “ _Anything coming to mind at all?_ ”

The Jon shrugged dejectedly, one shoulder lifting and then the other. “Nah, not really.”

“W-w-what’s his usual?” Rabbit asked.

“Oh, just a fun little drink Brianna and I developed together,” The Spine said proudly. “Aerated water with some blended ice and sugar mixed in. We call it crystal water.”

“Ah.” Rabbit looked perplexed. “That sounds… neat.”

“Spine!” Piper swung by the bar, dropping off a handful of dirty plates. “You’re on in fifteen, I’m taking over.”

The Spine frowned, checking his internal clock. They weren’t due to set up for another eight minutes, at least; Michael hadn’t even arrived yet. Why would Piper want—

…Except.

Except that was actually very, very good timing indeed.

“Say, Rabbit,” he began, making sure to keep his tone light. “Why don’t you help me and Jon get ready for the show? We could always use an extra pair of hands.”

“Oh, uh—s-s-sure.” Rabbit slid off her stool, clockwork creaking as she straightened. “W-w-whaddo I gotta do?”

“Well, mostly it’s just a matter of tuning the instruments,” The Spine said, studiously not looking at Rabbit. He stepped out from behind the bar and made his way over to the corner where they kept their instruments when they were off duty. “It doesn’t normally take very long. Jon, hum me an A, would you?”

“Hmmmm…” The note was just a hair off; The Spine wasn’t quite sure if that was on purpose or a result of The Jon’s lethargy, but he did notice the subtle twitch across Rabbit’s features in response. He adjusted the guitar’s string accordingly and moved on to the next one. “A D?”

“Hmmmm….” There was a quiet echo of Jon’s note this time as Rabbit hummed it under her breath. She was about a half-step down from where she ought to be, but The Spine took it as encouragement. “How about a G?”

“Hmmmm….” This time, The Spine could not keep himself from looking up as Rabbit’s note came out stronger than The Jon’s, flat though it was. Rabbit immediately recoiled, steam bursting from her cheeks in embarrassment.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” she said before The Spine had even opened his mouth. “I d-d-d-dunno what I was thinkin’, I know I ca-ca-ca-can’t do it right—”

“That’s all right,” The Spine said, making sure to keep his voice level. Too much sympathy would turn Rabbit off in an instant. “You weren’t all that far off, anyway.” He played the string, letting Rabbit hear the correct note. “That’s G. You were singing F sharp.” He played the second note. “Not terrible, all things considered.”

Piper sent a quiet _hmph_ through the telegraph, which The Spine steadfastly ignored.

“O-o-oh.” Rabbit looked pensive. “Could I try again?”

“By all means.” The Spine played the first two notes again, leaving a space for Rabbit to hum G. Rabbit hesitated for a moment, then crooned out a note that, while still not G, was much closer than her previous attempt. The Spine smiled.

“It’s an improvement,” he said. “Definitely something you could master, if you wanted.”

Rabbit pulled back again. “Oh, I d-d-d-dunno, Spine. I n-never even ma-ma-managed to master the melodica, an’ that thing couldn’t really hit sour notes. Singin’ ain’t really my strong suit…”

“Well, that’s why you learn,” The Spine said, returning to his guitar to tune the last few strings. (It really hadn’t needed much tuning in the first place, but it never hurt to check.) “There’s no rush about it. Jon and I have been doing well enough on our own, but Michael’s been talking for a while about getting another singer to round out our melodies. I’m sure he’d enjoy teaching you.”

The Jon made a quiet noise that sounded suspiciously like a hiccup. The Spine glanced at him, then back at Rabbit.

“Anyway, if you’re uncomfortable, we can always try teaching you an instrument instead. I believe Michael came across a good quality accordion a couple of weeks ago. It might suit you.”

Rabbit fidgeted. The desire on her face was plain as day; she knew she had been created with music in mind, despite the shortcomings of her creator. To have had that dream snatched away from her, and then to have it dangled just within reach…

“Are ya s-s-sure?” she asked at last, fingers twisted together in front of her chassis. "I w-w-wouldn’t be gettin’ in the way or nothin’?”

“Not at all,” The Spine said. “Would you mind Rabbit joining us, Jon?”

“Oh… could she?” The Jon suddenly seemed much more interested in the proceedings. “Would you really sing with us, Rabbit? Or play the accordion, _please_ , Michael wanted to teach me but I bet you could do it so much better, _please_ say you’ll stay with us!”

“ _A little strong, buddy,_ ” The Spine sent him sternly. “ _Reel it in._ ”

Rabbit seemed taken aback.

“Oh, well, uh…” She looked around the saloon, eyes clicking out of sync as steam trickled from her cheek vents. “When you p-p-put it _that_ way…”

“Is that a yes?”

“ _Jon._ ”

“I… I guess it is.” Rabbit offered a hesitant smile, first to Jon and then The Spine. “If y-you’re both sure that you don’t m-m-mind havin’ to teach me everythin’ from the ground up.” She let out a breathless laugh. “Whaddaya know, it m-m-might even be fun!”

“Hey, guys!” The doors to the saloon opened again, admitting a slightly cleaner (if still slightly oil-stained) Michael Reed, who approached the group of them with a cheerful smile on his face. “You’re setting up early.” He took in the three of them, Spine with his guitar, The Jon with his huge grin and wide eyes, and Rabbit with her shy smile and hunched shoulders, and furrowed his brow in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Michael…” With a broad grin, The Spine extended a hand towards Rabbit. “Say hello to the newest member of the Steam Man Band!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miscellaneous references: Yes, Piper is a Steamworld Heist reference. :P
> 
> Yes, that is my (rather sad) attempt to bring Crystal Pepsi back to this time period. I have no idea if carbonation was a thing back then. Let's pretend it was.
> 
> Did any of you notice that Rabbit's internal computer was Bebop before now? I was trying to be a little subtle about it, but that was a fun easter egg if anybody was keeping an eye out. And yes, QWERTY is now in there too. I was trying to make acronyms for them both (InterNutter made an awesome one for Bebop in one of their fics) but I couldn't come up with a decent one for QWERTY so I left that out >.>.
> 
> Yes, I made a vague Sherlock Holmes reference. It refuses to leave my soul.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, sorry about the wait. Work has been very busy these past few weeks and I haven't had much time for writing. This chapter's a bit shorter than I'd like for this long of a wait, but I'm currently doing some planning for the next chunk of the fic and I'm excited for the scenes that are coming up. :) We're almost at the end of the Becile flashbacks, but we've got at least two or three more, I think, and they're only going to get worse from here.
> 
> I hope you all had a great Halloween- I dressed up as my fanbot Binary and had an awesome time. Anybody else dress up as SPG?
> 
> As always, hope you guys enjoy the chapter, and I hope to see you again soon!

“Rabbit, your optics are blinking.”

“Mmmmno, they’re not.” Rabbit leaned against the side of the window, gaze fixed avidly on the path outside. Sharing the parlor with Becile during his evening fix of brandy wasn't particularly Rabbit’s idea of a good time, but Delilah had gone out to fetch the mail a short while ago, and Rabbit was hoping for a letter from Ma. It had been _ages_ since she’d gotten one. She hoped Ma was all right… Had she gotten sick?

“Mm, it’s very faint, but they’re flickering.”

Rabbit scowled. “So don’t look at ‘em.”

Or maybe… she didn’t want to think about it, but maybe Ma had gotten angry with her after Becile’s letter. Rabbit had tried to send her own follow-up surreptitiously in the mail, but she had no way of knowing if it had actually reached Ma. Not having saliva, she hadn’t been able to properly affix the stamp or close the envelope, so she’d had to make do with some wax from melted candles. Hopefully she hadn’t made too much of a mess… She didn't know if she’d be able to steal a second envelope and stamp if the first one hadn’t gotten delivered.

Suddenly, there was a hand at her face.

“G-g-g-g-g-get off!” Rabbit jerked away, steam bursting from her cheeks in alarm. Becile stared at her, eyebrows raised.

“Come now, Rabbit, you’re being obstinate.” Becile grabbed her by the chin and turned her face from side to side, studying her optics. “Hm, yes, exactly as I thought. The cables that supply power to your optics must have come loose. All that banging around in the forest, no doubt.”

“M-m-m-my eyes are fi-fi-fi-fine,” Rabbit snapped, wrenching herself out of Becile’s grasp. “I can see.”

Becile raised his eyebrows. “What color is the light outside?”

“Red,” Rabbit answered without looking. “It’s sunset.”

Becile’s mouth twisted to the side, and the gears in Rabbit’s chest immediately ground to a halt.

She couldn't… she couldn't be _wrong_ , could she? Her diagnostics hadn’t informed her of any issues, had hardly reported any malfunctions all week, apart from her hands. Surreptitiously she glanced sideways out the window again, but the readings stayed the same.

“Oh, dear,” Becile said, but Rabbit was hardly listening. She felt off-balance, out of place; her internal clock was keeping time just like it always did ( _measure against reference points: timekeeping within acceptable limits_ ), but apparently it must be wrong because it was _always_ red around this time, and why would Becile say otherwise? Flesh and blood optics and nerves didn’t malfunction, but robots did. Rabbit was the perfect example of that.

“W-what, um. W-w-whaddaya think we should do?” she asked nervously. “It’s been like this f-f-for a while, now.”

“Well, the first thing I’d recommend is an in-depth diagnostic,” Becile told her, “coupled with a careful physical examination to make sure that the cables are wired in properly before anything gets worse.”

“W-w-w-w-w- _worse?_ ” Rabbit exclaimed. _Internal temperature rising. Increase respiration input._ “W-what would happen if it got _worse?_ ”

“I don’t know,” Becile said simply. “Potentially, either a permanent shift in your color processing ability or blindness, until the hardware is replaced. Let’s go to the lab, shall we, and I can take a look at the connections.”

Despite herself, the mention of the lab made Rabbit tremble in fear. The last time she’d been down there, Becile had broken her hands. She’d been left alone in the dark, restrained, for hours as she waited for the indecipherable signals from her fingertips to die down. She’d lost the last tangible reminder she had of Pappy down there.

She did _not_ want to go back.

“D-d-d-d-do we hafta go down there?” she asked hesitantly. “Couldn’t you, uh. L-l-look at me up here, maybe?”

Becile huffed impatiently. “All of my tools are down in the lab. It would be extremely inconvenient, not to mention time-consuming, to haul them all up here. Please stop arguing and come along.”

Rabbit bristled, about to tell Becile to stuff it and maybe she didn't _care_ if she went blind after all, but a snippet of the conversation she’d overheard with Hannah replayed in her mind.

_Off switch. I’m sure this one has one too._

Becile wouldn't _really_ just shut Rabbit off, would he? Ma wouldn't like it, and surely Becile had to know that Rabbit would _tell_ her if he ever shut her off like a common appliance, didn't he?

Rabbit wasn’t quite sure. Becile had already proven, after the escape attempt and subsequent punishment, that he had no qualms about manhandling Rabbit or even inflicting pain on her. Whatever objections or reprisals he was expecting were obviously not important enough to deter him from doing as he pleased.

Which led to an ugly thought; either Becile had lost all respect for Ma, in which case Rabbit was in danger as she had no other line of defense against him, or…

Ma had given up on her.

Rabbit’s chassis felt very quiet.

“Rabbit.” Becile’s voice was hard. “Come along, _now_ , or do I need to check your hearing as well?”

Rabbit flinched, and with one last glance out the window (still red, what was _wrong_ with her?) she stood, hunching her shoulders backwards in an attempt to protect her power switch. Becile _hmphed_ in derision, shaking his head before turning and setting off in the direction of the basement. A half-second of hesitation later, Rabbit followed.

 

~ * ~

 

_Analyzing sound metrics…_

_Measuring wavelength: low frequency._

_Sharp note not detected (confidence of 81%)._

_Analysis…_

“…G?”

The Jon’s eyebrow plates creased together. “That’s an A, Rabbit.”

“Awwwwwwwgggh!” Rabbit slumped in her chair, face plates screwed up in exhaustion. The Jon and The Spine had been hard at work all week trying to teach her the difference between all the different notes a guitar could make, but Rabbit was still only guessing the right note sixty percent of the time. Their current exercise had involved Rabbit plucking a note at random with her eyes closed (Michael had taught her how to read a guitar neck very early on) and trying to figure out which note she had played.

She hated it.

“Try again,” The Jon encouraged her. “Do a higher note this time, you were better with those yesterday.”

Rabbit grumbled but closed her eyes again and placed her finger on a random fret. (At least she wasn't worried about breaking the instrument’s neck anymore—the first few hours had been fraught with anxiety as she tried with the utmost care to exert enough pressure to play the notes properly without cracking the wood.)

_Ding…_

_Analyzing…_

“…B.”

“That’s a C, Rabbit.”

“ _Dang it!_ ” Rabbit trilled in frustration. Her anger was short-lived, however, as her right thumb curled around the string tightly enough that it suddenly snapped, tearing a note of alarm from her voice box.

“Rabbit!” But Jon didn’t sound upset with her, only excited. “I didn’t know you could speak Blue!”

Rabbit frowned, distracted. “Speak what, now?”

“Blue!” The Jon said happily. “I thought only me and The Spine could speak it. Where’d you learn it?”

“I… I dunno.” Rabbit still felt a bit lost. “I think I taught myself, to be honest with ya. I was tryin’ to talk to the birds in the forest and it just… came out.”

“Wow.” The Jon sounded impressed. “Try to say something else.”

“Um…” Rabbit fingered the broken string self-consciously. “ _I’m sorry I broke your guitar._ ”

_Sorry music-box string snap I did,_ her processor translated dutifully.

The Jon’s face flickered in a sort of amused grimace. “No, that’s not quite it. Here, try something easier. Just say hello.” He sat back and let out a quick, cheery chirp.

_Hello_ , echoed Rabbit’s processor.

“ _Hello…?_ ” Rabbit tried.

The Jon shook his head.

“Don’t bring the note up at the end, that’s what you do when you’re talking. If you want to make it a question, do this.” And he made a soft clicking noise.

“ _Hello,_ ” Rabbit chirped again, but once more The Jon frowned.

“Almost… but you sound so sad. Take out the minor notes—try pretending you’re happy to see me, and say it that way.”

Happy to see The Jon? Rabbit supposed it could work—The Jon was a perfectly nice automaton, after all—but she couldn't really dredge up the enthusiasm right now. Maybe if she was talking to Ma, or—

Pappy.

Pappy, coming home after a meeting of the Cavulcadium, Rabbit waiting impatiently in the foyer for the telltale click of the key in the door that meant that Pappy was back, that he would hug Rabbit and tell her all about the outside world and _you’ll get to meet them soon, my dear, just a few more tests. You’re almost ready._

“ _Hi…_ ” Rabbit sighed, and immediately The Jon’s eyes widened, steam bursting from his cheeks as he jerked backwards, hat toppling from his head. The Spine, who had been largely ignoring their antics up until now as he practiced on his own guitar, looked over sharply and clicked out a series of notes at the Jon, who shook his head firmly.

“No, no, it was just a mistake, Spine, it’s okay,” he said, but the wisps of steam coming from his cheeks did not dissipate, and at last he hid his face behind his hat in what Rabbit finally recognized as extreme embarrassment.

“W-what… what did I say?” Rabbit asked in trepidation, looking between the two robots warily. “Did I say something r-r-rude, Jon? I really didn’t mean to.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Jon reassured her from behind the hat. “Just, um… That was a very good hello. Good job.”

Rabbit looked over at The Spine.

“It was a very… specific kind of hello,” The Spine explained. He was still looking at The Jon with a suspicious expression, but The Jon hadn’t yet moved. “A kind of hello that you save for… very special people.”

_Oh._ Rabbit’s vents gave off their own burst of steam, but she fought the urge to cover her face. “I’m real sorry, Jon, I didn’t mean it—I was j-just thinking about Pappy, you know, and I guess it-it changed what I was sayin’ somehow.” She looked at The Spine again. “Can it do that?”

“Your emotional intent can change the register of what you say, yes,” Spine confirmed. “Which is why you have to be _very careful_ , or people will get the _wrong idea_.”

“What other people?” Rabbit asked. “I thought you two were the only ones who could speak it, anyhow.”

“Michael’s becoming adept,” Spine said. “In any case, the basic principles are very simplistic; minor notes indicate sadness or worry. Runs with sharps indicate tension and unease. _That_ …” he gestured at Rabbit. “That definitely means… Well.” He cleared his throat. “Be careful with that.”

As The Spine sauntered off to locate a replacement string, Rabbit lifted a hand to her throat in dismay.

She hadn’t even known what she was doing to make her chirping come out that way; how was she supposed to _control_ it?

“It’s okay, Rabbit.” The Jon finally came out from behind his hat, replacing it on his head as he leaned back against the wall. Steam still trickled haphazardly from the swirls on his cheeks. “Maybe it doesn’t matter if you learn it—Spine doesn’t like us speaking it in public, anyway.”

Rabbit thought back to that first morning when she’d met Brianna, how The Spine had shushed Jon when he’d started whistling on the street.

“How come you c-c-can’t speak it ‘round other people?” she asked, suddenly curious. “It sounds real nice—I thought everybody’d love to listen to it.”

“Mm-mm.” The Jon shook his head. “It’s rude, Spine said. Just reminds people that we’re different from them.”

“Different how?”

“We’re… well…” The Jon huffed out a burst of steam. “I don't really like saying it, ‘cause it sounds rude, but, well… our blue matter’s more _pure_ than theirs. Like it’s got less… _other stuff_ in it. Not that that’s any better or anything!” he amended hastily. “But Delilah was thinkin’… that’s why we’re different from the other robots. ‘Cause she made us different.”

Rabbit let that process for a moment.

“So you guys can dream,” she said slowly, “an’ _I_ can dream, too. An’ you guys can speak your own language, and _I_ can speak it…” She looked back down at the guitar in her hands.

The Jon must have picked up on her thoughts, because a huge grin suddenly broke across his face and he clapped his hands together in excitement.

“So you can play music, too, because we can play it!” he exclaimed. “Go on, Rabbit, try it again! I know you can do it!”

At a bit of a loss despite her newfound anticipation, Rabbit let her fingers brush over the strings absently. The game they’d been playing before hadn’t really been helpful, no matter what blue matter meant she was supposed to be able to do. But what else could she try?

Her fingers plucked a random note, and suddenly a memory loaded itself up onto her processor. The music box again. Rabbit frowned. Those notes… she could have sworn she’d just heard them.

She played the note again on the guitar.

Once again, the memory jarred, and Rabbit’s eyes opened wide as several gears doubled their pace inside her chest.

The notes! They were the same!

The room seemed to shrink away to nothing as she worked, The Jon’s breathing quieting away to nothing, her own body disappearing from her conscious awareness as her entire attention narrowed down to just the memory and her fingers.

One, two, three four… The process was laborious, each note but the first taking more and more time to locate and match, but as time went on her processor began to notice the pattern, noticed the steps between the notes, the difference between the intervals.

_Confidence: 75%. 80%. 95%._

Rabbit let the memory play all the way through this time, listening carefully as the music box sung out its notes. Almost of their own accord, her fingers moved slowly to the strings, hesitantly plucking out one note to the next, but each one matched the tinkle of the box, and soon she was playing both songs simultaneously, one within her processor and one without.

And they matched.

“Rabbit.” The Jon’s eyes were wide as he breathed out Rabbit’s name. “You did it. You played a song.”

And on a broken guitar, no less. Oil welled up behind Rabbit’s optics as her lips spread in a smile, and before she knew what was happening, she’d leaned forward to bury her face in her hands as the tears bubbled over and spilled down her copper cheeks.

She’d done it. She wasn't broken after all, wasn't a waste of her Pappy’s intellect or her new friends’ time and attention. She could, too, play music, and play it well.

All thanks to Ma and her beautiful, perfect music box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I'm so happy to finally get that scene in here XD The Rabbit-speaking-blue scene has been written for months by now. Just needed to find a place to put it.
> 
> Sorry for the vagueness in the music-epiphany part: I have some music experience, but I'm not quite good enough/don't have the time to sit and pluck out all the notes from the music box song (from Turn Back the Clock). Maybe someday. :P


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few important notes for this AU:
> 
> First, the robots' ages are, obviously, incongruent with canon. In this 'verse, The Jon is actually the oldest and The Spine is the youngest. I don't have an exact age for Rabbit, but she's probably a bit older than The Spine and younger than The Jon.
> 
> Second, I was debating introducing this formally into the fic, but I think the ship has sailed: there is going to be a Jon/Rabbit development eventually. They're not related in this 'verse, so I'm hoping that it won't bother people too much, but I'm just letting you all know now.
> 
> I hope everyone (from the US, at least) had a good holiday weekend, and hopefully I'll see you all again before Christmas. :) Enjoy.
> 
> Usual warnings present for serious depression and emotional abuse.

Pappy had made a mistake.

That was the only logical explanation for it—why else would so many of Rabbit’s parts be malfunctioning, and in such short a time span?

In the past two weeks, Rabbit had had to make more visits down to the lab than in the previous two months combined. Little things, all, but it felt as though every other day she was waking up to yet another emergency signal from another vital piece of her machinery. Becile was at least being courteous enough to do the repairs without too many snide comments about Pappy’s engineering ability, but the constant reminders of that terrible night were wreaking havoc with Rabbit’s emotion centers; there was hardly a night that had gone by without Rabbit snapping out of stasis at two in the morning, bellows heaving, fingertips sending her phantom signals of pain as wispy tendrils of dreams faded slowly from her consciousness.

Perhaps Pappy hadn’t planned on Rabbit being a very permanent addition to the family. It was certainly possible that he hadn’t used quite the best materials to construct Rabbit; copper easily discolored, after all, and grew patinas. (Rabbit had already found a few green spots growing on her face that she’d been too ashamed to ask Becile how to buff away.) It wouldn't be that much of a stretch to assume that her internal workings were just as fragile, disposable.

She supposed that meant she was going to die, soon.

It was a strange thought, thinking about death. Rabbit supposed she’d already thought about it in passing, what with her musings on shutting herself off, but that wasn’t really anything as permanent as death. As long as her internal mechanics were still working, any human could “bring her back to life” just by flipping a switch.

But death…

Rabbit remembered the color of Pappy’s skin after he’d faded away, the expression on his face as they were preparing him for burial. He’d been so slack, so lifeless as they dressed him; Rabbit remembered poking him in the side, discreetly, in the hopes that he would open his eyes and scold her one more time. (“Your fingers are much more likely to split my skin than tickle me, Rabbit, please be careful with those.”)

Nothing had happened, of course. Once something was dead, Ma had explained, that was it. The soul, or life force, or whatever it was that made a creature alive had gone, and there was no putting it back.

Rabbit wondered if she had a soul.

 

-

 

“Are ya almost done?” Rabbit asked, fidgeting on the slab. “It’s not r-really comfortable havin’ someone’s fingers in your eye, y-y-you know.”

“I’ll be done when I’m done,” Becile replied, voice stern. “These repairs are delicate, Rabbit, they will take some time.”

“Hmph.” Rabbit fought the urge to slump in disappointment, and diverted some steam out of her neck instead. (She’d shut down access to her cheek vents for the time being, since Becile was going to be working very closely on her face.) The sensation was unusual, and it tickled.

A lot.

“ _Please_ stop fidgeting.” Becile leaned backwards to grab another tool from the workbench. “The wiring behind your eyes is extremely complicated. If you cannot control yourself, I’ll have to disconnect your signal relays so that I don’t cut the wrong thing by mistake.”

It took most of Rabbit’s self-control to not flinch at that statement.

“You d-d-d-d-don’t n-n-need to do that,” she protested quickly. “Ma says you can j-just lock my neck servos an’ my head won’t be able to move anymore.”

Becile scoffed. “Miss Iris is not an engineer, no matter how much she fancies herself one. Locking the servos would still allow for resistance vibrations—it is only a physical obstacle to movement, not an electric one. Disconnecting the relays is the only way to completely remove the risk, hence my admonishment to _stop moving_ if you don’t like that option.”

Rabbit quieted. Internally, she adjusted some settings, then allowed her limbs to sink into neutral position before half-locking them into place.

“Thank you.” Becile lowered the magnifying lens over his goggles and leaned forward to peer once more into Rabbit’s left eye socket.

“Have you, uh. H-heard anything from her?” Rabbit asked after a few tense seconds. She knew she oughtn’t pry, but she so longed to hear any news of Ma, even if it was that she never wanted to see Rabbit again. At least she’d know, then. “From Ma, I mean.”

“Yes, I know who you meant.” Becile tweaked at a wire, causing a few stray sparks of blue and green to scatter across Rabbit’s vision. Thanks to the signal dampening Rabbit had applied, most of her limbs did not react to the surprise, but her one working photoreceptor blinked several times in reflex.

“Your mother has not seen fit to send me correspondence for quite some time,” Becile said at last. “Not since I wrote to her, at least.”

“Oh.” Rabbit let that sink in for a minute, then slowly released her toes from the lock command so that she could press them rhythmically against the bottom of her shoes.

_Calm. Pressure. Calm._

“Maybe… maybe we could send her a letter? To see if she’s okay? If she hasn’t written back in a while…” Rabbit trailed off as Becile’s lips pursed. Stupid. Why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut? She _knew_ by this point how easily Becile got annoyed—

“I didn’t want to have to tell you this.” Becile sat back from the work table, pushing his goggles up over his forehead. “Miss Iris has moved, Rabbit. Changed her position, and with it her place of residence. It was all very sudden… In the rush I suppose relaying her new address must have slipped her mind. I’m terribly sorry.”

…No.

No, that couldn't be right.

Ma had… had _moved?_

Without telling Rabbit?

Without telling _Becile_ where she was going?

Rabbit grabbed at the edge of the worktable to keep herself steady. And Becile hadn’t been planning on telling her. He’d been ready to just—what, keep it a secret from Rabbit that her mother had abandoned her? That she hadn’t even thought it was important to tell Rabbit where she was moving to because—

Because why?

Her logic circuits spun, refusing to accept the conclusion that kept being offered again

And again

And again—

_She’s left you._

_You disappointed her for the last time, and now she’s gone._

_You’ve broken down too many times. You’ve misbehaved too many times._

But Rabbit would’ve tried harder. If Ma had only told her that she was on the edge of leaving, she could have promised her, could have sworn on her circuitry and Pappy’s grave that she’d be a better robot, that she’d be the best daughter Ma could ever hope to have, flesh or not.

_Please, Ma, I can’t lose you, too…_

“I am terribly sorry,” Becile repeated. “It was quite a shock when I heard, I can’t imagine what you would be thinking right now.”

She…

wasn't, really.

A dull buzzing had replaced most of her processor’s normal background chatter. At any other time, it would have concerned Rabbit enough to go and seek out maintenance, but at the moment it felt oddly calming, being reduced to her essential functions.

_Core reactions contained within normal limits._

_Boiler temperature holding steady._

_Bellows functioning at 90% capacity._

_Oil pressure—_

“Oh, blast it all, not _again!_ ”

Rabbit jerked backwards, startled by the shout; Becile’s face had gone red and wrinkly, much like it had done after the weapons incident. “W-w-w-what’s wrong?”

“Your blasted eyes are leaking again,” Becile snapped. “I can’t do my work with flammable liquid everywhere—turn it off at once!”

He wanted Rabbit to… stop crying?

“I… I c-c-can’t do that,” Rabbit said, helplessly. “I d-d-d-d-don’t control that, it’s not—Pappy put it in—”

“Him and his damnfool ideas!” Becile swapped out his sturdy workgloves for a pair of rubber ones, scowl heavy on his lips. “Why in God’s name the man decided he needed to have a machine that could _cry_ , I’ll never understand. It’s a waste of good oil, is what it is, and a safety hazard besides. The sheer _lunacy_ of it all.”

Despite the locking command still mostly in effect, Rabbit’s limbs began to tremble. She hated it when Becile started insulting Pappy, hated it when he claimed that the ideas that had made Rabbit so human in her parents’ eyes were nothing more than frivolous trivialities that no self-respecting engineer in their right mind would have ever bothered implementing.

Becile hated Pappy, that much was clear, and the more Rabbit saw of that hatred, the more frightened she got that someday Becile would take out the brunt of that anger on her.

“A complete waste,” Becile was muttering to himself as he worked, reconnecting wires inside Rabbit’s eye socket. “Hardly any work done, and a ludicrous amount left to do. And then you’re apt to have five things falling off of you tomorrow that I need to attend to and I don’t have any _time_ to keep playing nursemaid to you and keep up with my own experiments besides.”

More oil squeezed its way out of Rabbit’s lubricating ducts.

“You d-d-d-don’t have to,” she said, voice catching in her throat. “I’m sure I’d be f-f-fine if you didn’t do anything for a few days…” It wasn’t like Ma was going to be around to get angry at him for not taking care of Rabbit anymore.

“I need to make sure your eyes are functional, at least,” Becile groused. “But if anything else breaks, I can’t guarantee that I’ll get to it right away. It’s ridiculous, this degree of instability in your construction. Absurd.”

“’m sorry,” Rabbit whispered. Carefully, so as not to jostle anything and disrupt Becile’s work, she rotated her elbows so that her arms were wrapped comfortingly around her midsection.

She’d failed. Her letter must not have reached Ma, then; she must have just read Becile’s letter about Rabbit running away and decided she was too much trouble for her to bother with anymore.

Rabbit didn't understand. Ma had promised her, all those months ago, that she would always take care of her. That she’d watch out for her and be there for her, no matter what.

She’d told Rabbit that she _loved her_.

Maybe…

…maybe love was…

a temporary thing.

An exhaustible thing.

And maybe Rabbit had just…

…

run out.

  

~ * ~

 

Rabbit was at the bar again.

She’d taken to sitting there in the evenings, nursing a glass of water long past the end of the Steam Man Band set and watching as the various other entertainment acts cycled through. The Spine had taken it as an encouraging sign at first, proof that Rabbit must be trying to ingrain herself in the community of their little town, but now he was beginning to second-guess himself. Despite the handful of people who’d shown an interest in getting to know their newcomer, he’d never seen any one person sitting with Rabbit for longer than a minute or two at most.

The Spine glanced around the counter, making sure that all of his customers were happily engrossed in their drinks, then picked up his rag and made his way over to Rabbit’s section of the bar.

“Doin’ all right?” he asked casually as he began to wipe down the (already perfectly clean) countertop. Rabbit’s faceplates contracted into something marginally happier than her previous expression, but the left side of her smile was unable to contain its tremor.

“Oh, y-yeah,” she said. “The music’s good tonight.”

The music was atrocious, but The Spine said nothing about it. Rabbit was only two weeks into her musical education; she could be forgiven for her as-yet poor taste.

“I’m surprised The Jon isn’t with you,” The Spine continued. “Did he get called off to work?”

That was another development The Spine hadn’t quite been expecting, and as such he was monitoring it very carefully. Despite being the elder brother, The Jon’s mannerisms had always made him seem much more childlike than he actually was; it had never crossed The Spine’s mind that he might be interested in things like… well, like what he had with Brianna, for instance.

“Yeah.” Rabbit traced a finger down the side of her glass. “We gotta buncha boarders in and he had to go an’ take care of all the horses. He said he’d be back in l-like an hour or so if you needed him.”

Thankfully, Rabbit had so far proved to be highly oblivious about the matter.

The Spine glanced back across the bar. Beside the service doors, Piper was watching him expectantly, one red eyebrow arched in challenge. Internally, The Spine sighed and sent her a quick message through the telegraph, then laid down his rag and took a seat across from Rabbit.

“Are you sure you’re doing okay?” he asked, a bit quieter this time. “Michael and I think you’ve been progressing well with your music lessons, but he says you’re still unsure about formally joining the band.”

Rabbit looked uncomfortable.

“It’s c-c-complicated,” she said. “I… you guys’ve been great at teaching me, an’ I really appreciate it and all, b-b-but—I—” She trailed off. “It’s… it’s about Ma.”

The wife of her dead creator. The Spine had gleaned that much over the past week, at least. “What about her? Have you heard from her?”

Rabbit grimaced.

“I haven’t even _looked_ for her since I g-got here.” She sounded pained. “She doesn’t know where I am, Spine, how can I just… sit here playing music when she’s out there and I…” Her hands clenched into fists. “I need to look for her.”

“Okay.” The Spine laid a hand on the counter beside Rabbit’s in a gesture that he hoped was comforting. “Where did you want to start?”

All at once the fight left Rabbit, who slumped over with a hiss of steam.

“That's just it,” she whispered. “I d-d-don’t even know where to _go_. He said… he said she _moved_ , and didn't tell me, an’… an’ what if that means she doesn’t wanna see me anymore? What if I go an’ look for her and she tells me she doesn’t wanna be my Ma anymore?” Spots of oil appeared beneath her photoreceptors, darkening the already stained metal. “I can’t just leave her behind, Spine, b-but… what if she doesn’t… d-d-doesn’t…” A tear slipped free as her chassis gave a jerk, dripping down onto the countertop where it spattered outwards into drops of iridescent black. “W-what if she doesn’t _love_ me anymore?”

“That’s not true,” The Spine said, surprising even himself with the firmness of his answer. “She’s your mother, Rabbit, of course she still loves you. And we’ll help you find her, if that’s what you want.”

“But I don’t even know if she’s still in San D-D-Diego,” Rabbit protested. “How’re we gonna find her?”

“Delilah,” said The Spine. “Or Miss Moreau, rather.” His relays were firing so fast he’d forgotten his propriety protocols. He’d have to make a note of that for Michael, later.

“H-h-h-hold up.” Rabbit wiped her eyes on her sleeve, eyebrow plates furrowed in confusion at The Spine. “That Delilah lady, the one who I met who said to come m-m-meet Michael an’ get fixed, she’s the one who _made_ all’a you guys?”

The Spine frowned. “Well, not directly, but yes. It _is_ ‘Moreau Robotics’, after all.”

Rabbit slumped back in her seat, staring off into the distance as she waited for that to process. The Spine, on the other hand, was becoming vaguely concerned. So Rabbit had inadvertently run into the leading producer of robots on her trip to Balboa; what was the big deal about that?

“So _that’s_ who all’a the fuss was about,” Rabbit murmured. “Gosh, I get why now.”

The Spine cleared his throat. “ _Anyway,_ Miss Moreau has contacts in several cities, thanks to her robotics company. One of them might be able to help us find your mother.”

“O…Okay.” Rabbit resumed stroking her glass, the motion a little faster than before. “She w-w-wouldn't _mind_ doin’ that, right? It’s not askin’ too m-m-much?”

“I’m sure it won’t be,” The Spine reassured her. “Miss Moreau has always been very generous with her assistance.”

“Okay…” Rabbit still looked unsure. “D’ya know when she’s coming b-b-back to Balboa, then? Cause Michael’s been writin’ her for ages an’ she hasn't come back to see him.”

“Michael’s been asking her for advice on what amounts to his entrance exam into the company,” The Spine explained. “She hardly needs to see him in person for that. But she does make periodic stops into town to check up on her creations… namely me, since I’m the newest and most complicated.”

Rabbit snorted at that. The sound reminded The Spine of a cross between a broken accordion and a very sick cat. “So you’re the b-b-b-baby of the group.”

The Spine’s spines bristled indignantly. “I am not; my plans were in progress for at least two years before I was made. Conceptually, at least, I’m older than half of the robots here.”

“Then why’d it take so long to make ya?”

The Spine quieted.

“Blue Matter is, by its nature, highly unstable,” he answered at last. “Many of Miss Moreau’s previous attempts to contain it were… unsuccessful.”

“Oh.” Rabbit picked up her glass and took a quick, awkward sip. “’M sorry.”

“It’s fine.” The Spine crossed his arms over the countertop, studying the old, familiar wood grain with a pensive eye. Should he tell her? It might not ever be relevant. Rabbit might end up leaving long before anything came of The Jon’s interest, anyway, and it would only upset her in the meantime. Perhaps it was best to just focus on helping her find her mother, which was what Rabbit seemed to want the most, anyway.

Except… if Rabbit found her… that meant she would most likely leave Balboa.

The Spine’s boiler bubbled uncomfortably.

It shouldn't have made that much of a difference to him. As much as Rabbit had become a friend during her short stay in town, she was still an outsider. They were not manufacture-mates, had not been programmed together and constructed within the same factory, similarities in design and creation process notwithstanding.

Rabbit was a lone robot, tied to human society and a human family. The Spine was not.

And yet… The Spine had grown rather fond of her. Rabbit’s shy, quiet nature had brought out a protective streak in him that until now he’d only felt towards Brianna, and to a lesser extent The Jon. He sincerely enjoyed transmitting his knowledge of music to Rabbit, and had been looking forward to adding her to their little group, despite the uncharacteristic spontaneity of the original suggestion.

But that wasn't important, he chided himself. It was Rabbit’s decision as to whether she wanted to stay or go, and The Spine had no right to tell her to forget her mother and stay to perform in a band instead. Besides, Hatchworth would be constructed within the year; they’d have a new musician soon enough.

It wasn't his place to sway Rabbit one way or the other. What would be would be.

“I’ll send a telegram to Miss Moreau in the morning,” The Spine said, pushing back from the counter with a loud squeak of his stool. “She should be here within the week, and then we can move forward with finding your mother.”

He didn't wait for Rabbit’s response before leaving the bar, core hot in his chassis and processor heavy with static. For once, Piper said nothing as he passed her by.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the timeline is getting rather full from this point on. I have a LOT of scene ideas left, and not a ton of in-fic time left to include them, so I spent a lot of time this past week planning out what order everything's going to go in. I'm fairly happy with how things turned out, but unfortunately that didn't leave much time for getting actual scenes into this chapter- never fear, though, the stuff coming up in chapters 21 and 22 are going to be a ton of fun. :)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and I hope that you all have a great holiday, whatever you celebrate. See you in the new year!

“Hey, Rabbit?”

With a start, Rabbit looked up from her accordion, the blue photoreceptor flickering back to life with a hurried command. “Y-y-yeah, Jon?” She forced a cheerful smile, several seconds too late. “Whatsa matter?”

Uncharacteristically, The Jon was frowning. (Also uncharacteristically, he hadn’t yet bounded into the middle of Rabbit’s cubicle with his normal disregard for personal space.)

“Why was your eye off?” he asked. Rabbit grimaced.

“I… don’t really wanna talk about it,” she said, fidgeting with the hem of her vest. “You needed somethin’, though, what was it?” She’d learned early on that outright lying didn't work particularly well on The Jon; even though he couldn't tell exactly what the truth _was_ most of the time, the golden bot had proven to be uncannily perceptive of when something was being hidden from him. Misdirection, on the other hand… that was a strategy that The Spine employed almost daily with his older brother, and one that Rabbit had been only too happy to adopt as well.

This time, however, it didn't quite seem to be doing the trick.

“Well… why are you sitting all the way in the corner?” The Jon continued, inching forward into the room. “The charger can’t reach you all the way over there if you wanted to take a nap.”

Rabbit sighed. “I’m not taking a n-nap, Jon. I w-w-wanted to be alone.”

“Oh.” The Jon paused, taking in the scene again: Rabbit hunched over in the corner of the cubicle, accordion and instruction booklet spread out beside her on the floor, barrier blocks set up along the bottom of the cubicle walls to cover up the gaps. The Jon looked at the door, then back at Rabbit, then back at the door once more.

He closed it.

Rabbit let her head fall back against the cubicle wall with another long sigh.

“I kn-nnnow you speak horse, Jon, but you’ve still g-got English in there, too. You r-r-remember what _alone_ means, dontcha?” She didn't mean to be rude, she really didn't, but she just didn't have the processing capacity or the patience to deal with The Jon’s antics right now. All she wanted was an hour or two to just hide away and study her accordion booklet on her own and maybe practice away from people so they wouldn't get annoyed by the mistakes she was bound to make.

The Jon being around would just make everything… complicated.

Shuffling footsteps approached her, and then a small, soft… _something_ was shoved into her face. Rabbit managed to stifle her flinch, but only barely.

“I made them for you,” The Jon said dolefully, before Rabbit could say anything. “I thought you’d like them, since your old ones were getting torn up, and it’s getting colder soon, anyway…”

Rabbit raised an eyebrow, then looked back down at the present and carefully unrolled the wad of yarn to reveal two long gloves, elbow-length with red and black stripes.

They were both fingerless.

“I didn’t think you’d mind,” The Jon said quickly, after Rabbit had stared at them for several seconds without speaking. “I saw that you already cut the tips off of one of yours to play guitar with, so I thought… I thought it’d be okay. _Is_ it okay?”

Rabbit didn't know what to say. The Jon wasn’t wrong—she _had_ cut her old gloves earlier that week, but… that had just been the last joint of a few fingers on her left hand. This would be putting the entirety of her fingers on display. To everyone.

“You wouldn’t have to wear them around anybody else if you didn't want to,” The Jon said anxiously, twisting his hands behind his back. “I just thought… you might like something… prettier, when you’re on your own. If you don’t like them…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Rabbit said hastily. “Th-they’re beautiful, Jon, it’s just…” She looked down at her fingertips. “It’s my hands.”

“But…” The Jon looked confused. “There’s nothing wrong with your hands anymore, Michael fixed them ages ago.”

How to make him understand? Rabbit studied her hands, curled in her lap on top of The Jon’s gift, the tips of her four left fingers peeking out from the torn edges of her gloves. The metal looked fine, almost good as new, but in Rabbit’s mind she couldn't help but see them as they had been two weeks ago—crushed, twisted, dented enough that the pads on the insides had come uncoupled from the surfaces they’d been glued to. She couldn't help but remember the look on Michael’s face once he’d seen, once he’d understood what had happened, despite Rabbit’s refusal to give details. He _knew_. And if everybody else could see, maybe they would know, too.

And Rabbit couldn't handle that.

“But I _don't_ see it,” The Jon said, lowering himself to the floor so he could place a gentle hand on Rabbit’s knee. “I know you do, but I don't, and… if _I_ don't…” He looked up at Rabbit shyly through his long metal lashes. “If _I_ don't, I don't think that anybody else would, either.”

Rabbit hesitated, fidgeting with the soft material of the gloves. The Jon had certainly done a good job on them; the yarn was rather fine, and Rabbit’s newly installed sensors could hardly feel a seam on them as she stroked her thumb back and forth across the stitches.

But… she still didn't quite understand. Why would The Jon make her anything? They’d only known each other for a couple of weeks—Michael and The Spine were kind to her, sure, but The Jon seemed to regularly go out of his way to make sure that Rabbit was comfortable, or happy. It had been his suggestion for Rabbit to start using the cubicle as a sort of permanent bedroom in the first place, despite the consternation from some of the other robots who didn't understand Rabbit’s occasional need to shut herself away for hours at a time. It simply wasn't done, they’d said—the cubicles were public space, no one could just _claim_ one as their own. But The Jon had been firm, in his own quiet way, and after several days of hiding the key, and replacing Rabbit’s belongings every time they were moved, and sitting in front of the cubicle door every evening to prevent anyone else from going inside, and an appeal to The Spine ending in a simple shrug of the shoulders instead of a lecture to The Jon about his behavior, the other robots had eventually given up, muttering to themselves about _special dispensations_ and _entitlements_ and _the youth these days_. But The Jon had simply smiled at Rabbit, and offered to help her board up the gaps to give her a little more privacy.

No one had been that kind to Rabbit since Ma.

Her chassis ached.

“Okay,” she said at last. “I’ll w-w-wear them, but only around y-you and The Spine. As long as he promises n-n-not to say anything about it.”

The Jon’s face lit up like a sunbeam.

“Yay!” he exclaimed. “Oh, thank you, Rabbit, I really hope you like them. They should be really warm and your joints shouldn't get cold at all, that's what Bri told me about wool, it—…it…” The Jon trailed off, eyes going dull as his joints went lax and his head began to drop downwards toward his chest.

Rabbit lurched forward.

“Jon!” She grabbed the golden automaton’s shoulders to keep him from falling face-first into the concrete. “W-w-w-w-what happened, buddy? Jon? Can you hear me?”

The Jon didn't respond. His photoreceptors, dim and unfocused, flickered slightly as if in tune with some internal static, but he made no motion to suggest that he’d heard Rabbit.

“Jon…” Rabbit looked around helplessly. She didn't have access to the telegraph like the rest of them did, she couldn't simply call The Spine for help. What should she do? Leave The Jon here and go find somebody? What if he got worse?

“R-bbbbbuh-bleh…”

Startled, Rabbit looked down to see The Jon shudder and come back online, steam trailing from his cheeks as his photoreceptors brightened.

“Yeah, got it,” he said out loud to no one, as if nothing had happened. “I’ll tell her.” He looked up at Rabbit and smiled. “Spine says we gotta go to the saloon, Miss Delilah’s here to talk to you.”

Despite the fear that sparked through Rabbit’s chassis at those words, she fixed The Jon with a stern look. “Y-y-y-you okay buddy? You g-g-gave me a scare, there.”

The Jon blinked. “I did?”

Rabbit opened her mouth, thought better of it, then sighed and shook her head. “N-n-n-never mind. You said M-Miss Delilah was here?”

“Yeah, and Spine says we need to come right away.” The Jon rocked back on his heels and stood in an impressively fluid motion. “Here, you can keep the gloves in your room if you want.”

It was a split-second decision in Rabbit’s processor.

“Nah, I’ll put ‘em on,” she said, and tugged off the old, dirtying red gloves, laying them on top of the accordion. “M-m-might as well l-look nice for Miss Delilah.” She deliberated for a moment on the layering, then finally decided to tuck the ends underneath the sleeves of her shirt.

A compromise. For now.

The Jon’s smile was shy as he offered a helping hand up. Rabbit puzzled at that, but only for a moment before it hit her once again that she’d be meeting with _Delilah_ , and perhaps learning what, if anything, could be done to reunite her with Ma.

She shivered.

“We’re coming!” The Jon chirped again to no one, and led the way out of the building.

 

-

 

“Rabbit, dear, it’s good to see you again.” Miss Delilah looked just like how Rabbit remembered her: long, chestnut hair falling in ringlets around her soft, pale face, goggles pushed back high on her forehead, smile gentle and kind as she took a seat across from her in one of the back rooms of the saloon. “How is Balboa treating you?”

“It’s been r-r-really great so far,” Rabbit said truthfully. “M-M-Michael fixed me up good, like you said, an’ Spine an’ Jon have been teachin’ me music.”

“Splendid,” Delilah replied. “That’s wonderful, Rabbit, I’m glad to hear it. And there’s been no trouble from that… situation you were dealing with?”

Rabbit shook her head. “No, ‘m.”

“Good.” Delilah glanced over at The Spine, who was watching while leaning against the wall by the door, and The Jon, bouncing on the bed without much regard for the proceedings. “Now, Spine has told me that you’d like some help looking for your mother?”

Rabbit ducked her head. “Only if it’s n-n-not too m-much trouble, Miss Delilah. I kn-know you’re busy runnin’ the company an’ all…”

“Oh, think nothing of it,” said Delilah. “It’s no trouble at all to help such a lovely bot as yourself. And considering that you were one of Peter’s, well.”

Rabbit’s eyes widened.

“You—y-y-y-you knew him?” Her core hummed, static building painfully in her chest. “W-w-w-why didn’t you _say_ —”

“I wasn't confident at the time,” Delilah said. “It was only after we parted that I decided to look up Peter’s old file at the Cavalcadium, God rest his soul. It was there that I read the announcement of your creation—there were some basic specifications listed that confirmed it had truly been you whom I’d met, but I hadn’t thought it important to dig any deeper, since you were safe in Balboa.” She smiled apologetically. “I suppose I’ve been proven wrong, but I’m prepared to help you two reunite. It’s the least I could do.”

Rabbit shuddered, wrapping her arms around her chassis.

Delilah had known Pappy?

How?

Dozens of questions chased each other around her processor: Had they been colleagues together at the Cavalcadium? But then why hadn’t Pappy told Rabbit about her? Had they not liked each other, either? Were they another rivalry like Pappy and Becile?

Delilah laid a gentle hand on her knee.

“Your father was a good man,” she said quietly. “A bit eccentric, a bit of an idolizer, but his love of science was true, and he dedicated himself to his work. And to good results, I can see.”

The left side of Rabbit’s mouth quirked up in a smile. Delilah returned it, then straightened up in her chair.

“Now, about your mother,” she continued. “The rumors around the Cavalcadium at the time I left were that he had finally taken a Miss Tonia as his wife. Is this the woman you’re looking for?”

Rabbit let out a shaky sigh. “Y-y-yeah, that’s her.”

Delilah frowned. “Is something wrong?”

Rabbit couldn't speak. The tubing of her throat felt tight and constricted, and she was unsure if she’d even be able to control her voicebox if she tried. A little self-consciously, she looked up at The Spine and tweeted a strained, “ _help?_ ”

“Rabbit’s concerned about the reception she’ll get from her mother, Miss Delilah,” The Spine offered smoothly. “There were… complications, prior to her coming to Balboa.”

“I see.” Delilah paused, face pensive. “Well, it’s nothing a little sorting out won’t fix. What was her last known address, dear? That’s always the best place to start.”

Rabbit told her dutifully—the picture of the last envelope she’d received from Ma was imprinted quite clearly on her processor—but she made sure to add, “but I dun-n-no if she’s still livin’ there, Miss Delilah, Be—… he told me that she’d moved b-but hadn’t told him where she’d be going to. I dunno if she’s still even in San Diego anymore.”

“Don’t trouble yourself over it, dear,” Delilah reassured her. “No matter where she’s gone, between myself and the rest of the Cavalcadium, we’re sure to find her in no time.”

“Th-thank you, Miss Delilah.” Rabbit’s throat felt tight again, but she forced herself to choke out the words. “I really ‘preciate it.”

Perhaps it was better this way. If Iris truly didn't want to see her anymore, she could just tell the person who found her so, instead of telling Rabbit to her face. Maybe hearing the news secondhand would make it hurt less when it finally came.

From the bed, The Jon chirped out a quiet, concerned sound, but Rabbit couldn't be bothered to record the translation.

She needed to go back to her cubicle.

It was all out of her hands, now. All she could do was hope.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've got a bit of an emotional scene here today: I wasn't anticipating it to be this long, but the robots insisted, as they tend to do. No flashbacks this chapter- I plan on getting back to them for chapter 22.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

By the third day into the search, Rabbit had seriously begun to wonder if this was such a good idea after all.

Each day since Delilah’s departure, she’d been woken several times throughout the night by Iris’ voice echoing throughout her processor, as clearly as if she’d just been in the room with her.

_I’m disappointed in you, Rabbit._

_You were such a naughty child._

_Couldn't you have tried harder to behave? Couldn't you have respected your hosts more?_

_They gave up so much to take care of you._

_I gave up so much to take care of you._

_But you threw it all away._

_I’m so disappointed._

They were words that Rabbit never wanted to hear her say, words that she wished she could delete from her memory banks and banish from even the furthest reaches of her imagination centers.

Iris hated her. She could see no other logical explanation, and yet everyone else refused to listen. They insisted that she was wrong, that of course Iris still loved her, of course she wanted to find her, of course, of course, _of course._

Everyone, that is, except The Jon.

Every time Rabbit was forced back into her cubicle because the overwhelming optimism from everyone else became too much, The Jon would soon take up residence outside the cubicle door, humming a gentle tune as he played along with his kalimba.

“ _Out in the rain,_ ” he sang. “ _Out in the sun. Out in the raaaain… out in the sunshine._ ”

The Spine kept giving them strange looks when they were out in public together. Or when he walked in on The Jon showing Rabbit how to properly form chords on the guitar or mandolin. Rabbit didn't understand why—Jon was just trying to keep the both of them distracted; even though it was Rabbit’s mother, and Rabbit’s life that was going to be impacted, The Jon had been almost as strongly on edge. On Monday alone he’d gone offline twice, staring into space as Rabbit waited anxiously for him to come back. He’d been fairly explicit in his desire for Michael to not know when this happened, but Rabbit couldn't help but worry that one day Jon would shut off and… simply not return.

“ _But if you don’t go out at all, you’ll never feel the rain… fall…_ ”

 

-

 

“I wish she wouldn’t do that,” Rabbit blurted out abruptly as they turned the third corner of the exercise paddock.

Jon, who had been focused on getting Cherry to settle into his walking halter, looked over at Rabbit in confusion. “Who?”

“…Jenny.” Suddenly embarrassed by her outburst, Rabbit hunched up her shoulders towards her ears. “N-n-n-nevermind, it ain’t important.”

“No, what did Jenny do?” The Jon sounded concerned. “She didn’t bother you, did she?”

“No… Well… M-m-maybe she did, I dunno…” Rabbit shoved her hands in her pockets. Why had she thought she should say anything in the first place? Jenny and Jon were friends, he probably didn't want to hear Rabbit complaining about her.

“ _Tell me,_ ” The Jon chirped. “ _I won’t get mad._ ”

“It was nothin’,” Rabbit said miserably. “She was just s-s-sayin’ stuff ‘bout my face. Nothin’ bad, I promise.”

“But it made you sad,” Jon said. “What did she say?”

Rabbit’s core felt hot.

“She… she w-was makin’ comments ‘bout… about all this,” she said, gesturing at her face. “At all the… the green b-b-bits.”

The Jon’s eyebrow plates creased together. “Did she make fun of you for them?”

“N-n-n-no, she—” Rabbit stopped walking, screwing her photoreceptors shut as her hands clenched into fists. “She said they w-were _pretty_.”

She felt ridiculous. Pretty was not an insult, could not be construed as one in any of the languages Pappy had programmed her with. Pretty was a _compliment_ , something humans loved to receive—Rabbit could distinctly remember the look Ma’s face would get whenever Pappy would call her _beautiful_ or _darling_ or _my budding engineer_.

But the look in Jenny’s eyes as she’d said it, the tone of her voice…

It had reminded Rabbit of the comments Becile had made, the way he’d admired Rabbit’s form back when Rabbit had first arrived at the house. The way he’d been so intent on studying Rabbit’s mechanics, the embarrassment Rabbit had felt whenever she’d had to bare herself to be worked on.

People who looked at Rabbit that way _wanted_ things.

Bad things.

“But… they _are_ pretty,” The Jon said hesitantly, fidgeting with the lead on Cherry’s halter. “Do you not think they are?”

Rabbit let a plume of steam escape her cheeks into the cool fall air.

“I don’t… I d-d-dunno,” she said at last. “That’s n-n-n-not the point, it-it-it—” She clenched her jaw shut, cutting off the string of syllables. She didn’t often feel self-conscious about her stutter, but she hated how it always seemed to act up whenever she got upset. This was _important._

“It… it re-m-m-m-minds me of _him_ ,” she forced out after the two of them had stood there in silence for almost a minute. “The w-w-w-w-way he’d look at me when he…” _Breathe. Temperature rising. Breathe._ “W-w-when he…”

There was the soft crunch of boots on leaves and then The Jon’s hand pressed down comfortingly on her shoulder, followed moments later by Cherry’s warm nose.

“ _It’s okay,_ ” The Jon tweeted, so quietly that Rabbit almost couldn’t make it out. “ _He’s not here. Tell us.”_

“…He hurt me.” It almost didn't feel real the first time she said it, the words she’d been wanting to say for so long but could never manage to form on her lips. “He hurt me, J-Jon, he—he took out my eye an’ broke my fingers and I c-c-couldn’t do anythin’ about it but I can’t stop _thinkin’_ about it an’ it hurts so much but I’m just so t-t- _tired_ …”

“It’s okay,” The Jon said again soothingly. The hand on Rabbit’s shoulder began to rub slowly up and down, the slight friction helping somewhat to calm Rabbit’s frayed nerves. “It’s not your fault, Rabbit, he shouldn't have done that to you.”

“B-b-but I was so _bad!_ ” Rabbit insisted. “If I’d’a just done what M-M-Ma told me to an’ been a good little robot he wouldn’t’a had to punish me—I didn’t hafta run away! But n-n-now if he finds me I’m g-g-gonna be in so m-much trouble, an’ M-Ma’s gonna be soo mad at me when Delilah tells her where I am, I sh-should’a stayed with ‘im, I shoulda, I shoulda, I—”

“No, you shouldn't have,” The Jon said firmly, letting go of Rabbit’s shoulder to press her face between both of his hands. “And no he won’t find you, and no she won’t be mad. He was a bad man, Rabbit—you wouldn't be having nightmares every night if he wasn't a bad man.”

Rabbit flinched. “Y-y-y-y-you heard those?”

“The others don’t,” The Jon said calmly. “But I hear them when I’m asleep, and it makes me sad because I wish he hadn’t done that to you.” His head tilted to the side, the blue of his photoreceptors glowing brighter than usual. “I wish your mom had known about Balboa before she made you go live with him, we would’ve been so nice to you… Spine and I would’ve had so much fun playing with you back then…” The blue continued to brighten until the color was almost painful to look at, and Rabbit’s own eyes widened in realization.

“Jon! J-J-J-Jon, stay with me, d-don’t—!”

She raised a hand to grab onto The Jon’s shoulder, but just before her fingers could make contact a bright blue spark crackled out from one of the swirls on his cheeks and Rabbit, along with Cherry, reared back.

…Cherry.

Oh, no.

“Cherry! D-d-d-down, boy!” Rabbit shouted, but it was too late; another spark had lashed its way out of the void in Jon’s chest, dissipating into the air with a loud _crack_ that had Cherry rearing up again on his hind legs, whinnying in fear.

Jon was still holding his lead.

Rabbit lunged forward, arm outstretched to grab it from Jon’s hand, but the golden bot was already falling, dragged along by the strap wrapped around his hand. Rabbit’s fingers closed around nothing but air, and The Jon tumbled to the ground, straight into the path of Cherry’s hooves.

“ _Jon!_ ”

Cherry’s hooves came down with a _crash_ , buckling the delicate brass plating of The Jon’s left arm and chest. Thick, black liquid began to spurt out from severed oil lines, and Jon’s entire body gave a great jerk and then was still. Cherry, still bucking and shrieking in terror, finally managed to wrench his lead from The Jon’s limp hand and immediately took off running in the direction of the stable. Rabbit hardly gave him a thought before falling to her knees at Jon’s side.

“Jon! Jon, t-t-t-talk to me!” she cried, photoreceptors scanning his face for any signs of consciousness. His chest wasn’t moving, his bellows currently non-operational. He had no core for her to listen to; were the mechanics in his chest still functional?

Rabbit lowered her ear to The Jon’s chest, holding her breath so that she could listen for the steady tick-tick-ticking of gears inside his chassis.

Nothing…

Nothing…

As each second passed by, the oil pressure behind Rabbit’s eyes grew and grew until black tears squeezed their way out of her ducts and down her cheeks. He couldn't be—no. He couldn't just be _gone_ , not like this, Rabbit wouldn't let him.

Unbuttoning The Jon’s shirt as fast as her trembling fingers would allow, she pulled it and the suspenders down off his shoulders to expose the reset switch on his upper back. She hesitated for a moment, finger hovering an inch above The Jon’s brass skin, then steeled herself and flipped it off. Waited, one, two, three. Flipped it back on again.

A dull thrumming noise started up inside The Jon’s chest, but the blue behind his eyes did not glow, and his limbs did not move. Rabbit gritted porcelain teeth together, flipped the switch again.

Another thrumming.

A third time.

No sound came out of The Jon’s chest this time save for a mechanical grinding, as if his parts had run out of lubrication. Rabbit’s finger twitched reflexively on the reset switch but she forced herself to leave it on—Jon would wake up. He needed to wake up.

But as the seconds ticked on, and the leaking oil stream slowed to a trickle, and The Jon continued to show no signs of life, Rabbit’s hope began to dwindle. She needed to find a mechanic, and quickly.

Fists clenched and jaw set in determination she stood, but just as she’d taken one step back towards town, a quivering metallic sound behind her made her stop and look down.

The Jon’s chassis was trembling, limbs shaking as if the signals controlling them had gone haywire. Wisps of blue steam rose from his chest, and although the grinding noise had abated, the silence it left in its absence scared Rabbit more than the sound itself had.

After several uncertain seconds it stopped, and then Rabbit cautiously approached The Jon and knelt once more by his side.

“J-J-J-Jon, buddy?” she asked. “Are ya… are ya still w-w-w-with me?”

Silence.

More silence.

And then…

A quiet, crackling noise, much like the static on a broken radio.

The Jon’s head gave a jerk, his limbs twitched, and then a faint blue glow started back up behind his eyelids.

Rabbit’s core hummed.

“J-J-Jon! You’re all ri-ri-ri-right!” she exclaimed. “Aw, man, you g-g-gave me such a scare—c’mon, let’s get you to see Michael, you’re gonna need a bunch more oil after that. An’ m-m-maybe some soldering, but you’ll be all—Jon?”

The Jon’s eyebrow plates were drawn together, expression scrunched up into a configuration Rabbit had never seen before.

“ _Missing,_ ” Jon chirped fearfully, eyes darting between Rabbit, the ground, and the empty space between them and the barn. “ _Missing. Missing. Link missing—where am I, where is everyone, link missing—anyone? Anyone?_ ”

Rabbit stared. It… it had finally happened.

They’d never planned for this.

What was she supposed to do now?

“Come… come on, Jon,” she said weakly, trying to keep her voice calm. “L-l-let’s just get you to Michael’s, now, he’ll kno-kno-know how to fix ya.”

“ _Where am I?_ ” The Jon pleaded. He wasn't even looking at Rabbit anymore, gaze transfixed on a nonexistent point over Rabbit’s left shoulder. He didn’t seem to have registered the damage to his chassis yet, so extreme was his distress at being kicked off the network. “ _Need input, need date input, what year is it, please, I’m MISSING—_ ” His chirps broke off into hiccupping sobs and Rabbit, feeling helpless, laid a hand overtop of The Jon’s golden brow. The bot’s curly wig had been knocked askew in his fall; Rabbit took it upon herself to straighten out the locks in a futile attempt at comfort.

“You’ll b-b-be okay, Jon,” she said, voice much less confident than she felt. “Michael can fix it, you’ll see.” But in order for Michael to fix it, first she needed to get The Jon into town.

…Time to get to work.

Carefully, so that she didn't jostle The Jon’s chassis unnecessarily and worsen his oil leak, Rabbit hoisted the brass automaton up into a sitting position, then lifted The Jon’s uninjured arm and laid it around her own shoulders.

“Up we g-g-g-get, Jon,” Rabbit huffed, straining to stand under the combined weights of their bodies. Her knee and hip joints popped threateningly, but with a little wiggling she managed to distribute the pressure more or less evenly and eventually worked herself upright. “We g-g-got this. I’ll getcha into town, and we-we’ll find Michael, and he’ll get ya all patched up an’ you’ll b-b-be okay again, got it?” She punctuated each phrase with a steady step forward, but The Jon didn’t seem to be listening for anything except a telegraph signal.

“ _Anyone?_ ” he kept asking, his calls reduced to weak cheeps. “ _Anyone, why can’t anyone hear me?_ ”

“ _You’re okay,_ ” Rabbit whistled. Halfway back to the stables. “ _Safe. I’m here. Safe._ ”

“ _I’m-I’m-I’m-I’m broken,_ ” The Jon sobbed. “ _I can’t move, what’s wrong with me?_ ”

How was she supposed to sing a response for that?

“ _Check error report,_ ” Rabbit tried, wincing when her processor translated her awkward chirps back at her. “ _In processor, list of bad things, list of mistakes. Read it. Will tell you._ ”

The Jon fell silent, but without looking at his face, Rabbit couldn't tell if that was because he was following instructions or because he’d shut off again.

Almost there. Maybe she could try setting off her alarm feature again; she was almost too tired to move any longer and besides, she didn’t want to leave Jon.

“Rabbit?”

“ _Spine!_ ” Rabbit quickened her pace at the sight of the other automaton, steam puffing from her cheeks at the exertion. “It’s The Jon, he’s n-n-n-not okay!”

“I know.” The Spine clambered over the paddock fence to reach them and quickly relieved Rabbit of the heavy weight of her friend. “I lost contact with him a few minutes ago. What happened?”

“I d-d-dunno,” Rabbit panted. “One minute he was talkin’ to me like normal and then this—this _thing_ came outta his chest and scared Cherry.”

“ ‘Thing?’ ”

Rabbit nodded, wishing for the umpteenth time that she was part of the network so that she could just _show_ The Spine what she’d seen. “Yeah, it was like this big spark of electricity but it was blue, n-not white—I dunnnnno if it was blue matter or what else it coulda been, b-but it scared Cherry an’ he kicked The Jon real good.” She gestured helplessly at the dents on Jon’s side. “Can Michael help ‘im?”

The Spine surveyed the damage. “The leak and his plating, yes, easily. But we’ve never had an automaton fall off the network before. We might need Miss Delilah’s help for that delicate of a procedure.”

“But he can’t w-w-wait that long!” Rabbit exclaimed. “He don’t know what _year_ it is, Spine—how’s he supposed to wait around for her to come back an’ fix his brain?”

“We’ll do our best to take care of him with what we have,” The Spine said firmly. “If we need to send to the factory for the Matter Masters or some Moreau Workers to make this right without her, we will.”

“ _Spine_ ,” The Jon chirped weakly, grasping at The Spine’s vest with his functional hand. “ _Spine, I can’t hear you, why can’t I hear you?_ ”

“ _You’ve been damaged, Jon_ ,” The Spine whistled back, inflecting The Jon’s name with the same affectionate twist that Rabbit had used accidentally back in rehearsal. “ _You lost contact with the rest of us, but you’re not alone. Rabbit and I are with you._ ”

“ _Rabbit…_ ” The Jon’s voice was fading—that was the only explanation for why his voice would have echoed The Spine’s loving intonation. “ _She… she knows not to tell Michael about it, right?_ ”

“ _Tell Michael what?_ ” Spine asked. He was giving Rabbit that look again. “ _He needs to know what happened so he can fix you._ ”

“ _No, not that…_ ” The Jon’s body shuddered and the light behind his photoreceptors brightened for a moment, then flickered to dimmer than before. “ _Don’t tell him… don’t tell him…_ ”

Spine looked over at Rabbit, face solemn.

“I have to get him to the workshop, now,” he said. “Hopefully Michael will be there, but if he’s not, I need you to find him and tell him it’s urgent.”

“Got it,” Rabbit said. “Lemme just go tell Coggo to grab The Jon’s hat an’ then I’ll b-be right there.”

As she watched The Spine stride away towards the workshop, Rabbit’s shoulders slumped with a hiss of steam.

That hadn’t made any sense. Why would Jon have said her name that way? She didn't think she was misinterpreting; her processor hardly ever made mistakes at translating the chirping she heard.

But that would mean…

Rabbit shook her head and set off towards the stables. The Jon had just suffered the biggest malfunction of his life and had a horse fall on top of him to boot. He could be forgiven for any… linguistic mistakes he happened to make. At least he was still able to talk at all.

But Rabbit couldn't help running her fingers over the empty band of her hat as she pushed through the double doors, the sound of Jon’s voice sighing her name replaying over and over inside her mind.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm posting a little sooner than anticipated, mostly because it's been almost a month and I didn't know how much longer it would take to get these next two scenes done that I wanted. So I apologize if the chapter is a little short, but I wanted to give you guys a little something. :)
> 
> Once again, the flashbacks have (mostly) been postponed. I swear that they're coming, I just need a good segway into them. Maybe some day XD I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

_“Pappy?”_

_Ma and Pappy were talking. Rabbit knew it was considered rude to interrupt, but every book she was reading kept showing her the same thing and she was starting to grow concerned. She tugged on Pappy’s trouser leg again._

_“Pappy? It’s impo-po-portant.”_

_Finally, Pappy looked away from Ma and down at Rabbit on the floor. “Yes, Rabbit?”_

_Rabbit gestured at the book she was currently leafing through. “None ‘a these stories have robot kids in ‘em. Are there no b-b-books about robot kids?”_

_Pappy and Ma exchanged glances._

_“Well, that’s… yes, that’s true, there are no books about automaton children,” Pappy said. He seemed a bit uncomfortable, though Rabbit could not fathom why. “You are a… special case. You see, Rabbit, most children come about because a woman and a man, well…” He looked over at Ma again and reached out to touch her hand. “Usually it happens when a man and a woman love each other very much, and they decide they want to bring a child into the world. But in our case… that was not possible.”_

_Rabbit tilted her head. “Why? W-were you broken?”_

_Pappy winced. “Not ‘broken’, Rabbit, that’s not polite to say about people. But… things did not go as planned, and your mother is not… was not formed in such a way as to allow procreation. This is why I set about making you.”_

_Rabbit looked down at her book again. A small blond child had his face screwed up in a laugh, two similar-looking blond adults ruffling his hair. “But you two still l-l-love each other?”_

_“Of course we do,” Ma said. “More than almost anything.”_

_Rabbit perked up at that. “Almost?”_

_“Yes, darling.” Ma’s eyes twinkled as she reached out to stroke down Rabbit’s cheek. “Your father and I love nothing in this world half as much as we love you.”_

 

~ * ~

 

Michael had not dealt with the discovery well.

“What—how—when did—what is—” He’d dropped his wrench to the ground with an ear-splitting _clang_ as the void in Jon’s chest was revealed, staggering backwards from the worktable, eyes wide in fear. “Spine, what _happened_ to him?”

Rabbit felt guilty. She should have told Michael ages ago about the void; maybe he could have figured out a way to stop it from getting worse. Maybe Jon wouldn't have gotten hurt, if Rabbit had just _told_ somebody. But she hadn’t, and now The Jon was broken.

It was all her fault.

The next few days passed sluggishly. Since The Jon had been deemed heavily unstable and unsafe, he was kept primarily offline, barring a few minutes each day to check that his systems were still (mostly) functional. He was still locked out of the network, and still unable to communicate in anything except the blue matter-fueled chirps. This left Michael relying on The Spine to relay his questions and concerns, and their maintenance conversations became drawn-out, tense conversations that Rabbit could hardly follow from her spot in the far corner of the workshop.

She felt so useless. She hadn’t been able to keep The Jon from getting hurt. She’d barely been able to carry Jon to the stables—if The Spine hadn’t heard and come to help, she didn't know if she’d have managed to get Jon over the fence, much less to the workshop or the saloon. And now that what Jon needed most was somebody who knew how to fix him, Rabbit could barely even understand his explanations of what was wrong.

“ _Signal error 1044A,_ ” The Jon tweeted in a monotone. “ _Port not found._ ”

He didn't even sound sentient anymore. Not like Rabbit, not like Spine, not even like Delilah. Just a machine.

“ _Reroute to port B,_ ” The Spine instructed, his tone almost as robotic as Jon’s. No time for affection, now. “ _Re-sending invitation._ ”

“ _Error 1044A. Port not found._ ”

She couldn't stay. She couldn't stay and listen to this, to Jon’s brain being picked apart like he was nothing more than wires and chips and pre-programmed codes.

Without a word to anyone, Rabbit left.

 

-

 

The old feelings were coming back again.

She felt guilty, realizing it, but without the near-constant presence of The Jon and The Spine in her day-to-day life, the same sense of desperation she’d felt at the Beciles’ house was starting to re-emerge from her coding. The music lessons were few and far between, and whenever they did meet, The Spine was distracted and distant more often than not. Michael hardly spoke to her, his time almost entirely split between his attempts to fix The Jon and angry tinkering sessions with Hatchworth’s stove chassis. This left Rabbit with precious little to do, and plenty of time for the old thoughts and memories to distract her as she tried to focus on learning her accordion, or cleaning her steam vents, or feeding Cherry.

She didn't plug herself in at night anymore. The nightmares would invariably come back whenever she did so, and it wasn't like she really needed it, anyway.

And The Jon wasn't there to soothe them away.

She hadn’t realized until now just how vital The Jon’s presence had been to her enjoyment of Balboa. Oh, the other robots were nice enough, even Piper in her own way, and all of the humans she’d met had treated her remarkably like one of their own. (Matt had even offered her some of his own lunch one day when Rabbit admitted that she’d never tasted chocolate.) But none of them quite understood her the way Jon did, never knew just when Rabbit wanted someone around but not to speak, or when she needed mindless chatter to keep her mind off of the darker things. Jon always knew.

And Rabbit missed him.

 

-

 

It hadn’t taken much asking around to find them.

There _were_ children in Balboa, after all, and the populace was a well-educated one. It only took a few minutes’ search in the corner of the small library for Rabbit to find what she needed.

 

“ _And the big brown bear went lalo… lala… lollopin’ over the m-m-mountain._ ” Rabbit squinted at the pages of the book, double checking the vowels as best she could in the low light. “Gosh, that’s a tough one. I ain’t ever heard people use that one before, have you, Jon?”

The Jon said nothing. Rabbit, undeterred, shrugged and turned the page.

“ _‘No, no!’, the princess cried…_ ” She paused again, studying the illustration.

“She’s real pretty, ain’t she, Jon? Dunno why she’s so scared of the bear, she’s got those shoes and that pointy hat to stick’im with if she needed to…”

The Jon slept on. Letting out a steam-filled sigh, Rabbit rested her chin on one curled fist, letting the book flip closed.

It wasn't that she _minded_ , really, that Jon wasn't online during these sessions. He needed his rest, and Michael wanted to make sure that his systems weren’t put under any additional strain as a result of the void. But it just wasn't the same, being with Jon when he wasn't able to smile, or joke, or even _look_ at Rabbit when—

Rabbit busied herself with the pile of books at her feet, replacing the stupid bear-and-princess one to look for another that she hadn’t yet read.

What did she want Jon looking at her for? And what did that even _mean_ , anyway? Jon looked at her all the time, that’s what you _did_ when you talked to people. (Or what you were supposed to do, anyway; Rabbit often ended up looking at her shoes and mumbling when people besides her friends approached her.)

_“Superb craftsmanship—I can hardly see any seams.”_

_Hands touching her—her sides, her clothes, fumbling with her oil port, touching her hip joint—“rotate it out for me?” Eyes looking_ inside _her joints, looking at what Pappy never meant for anyone else to touch._

_“I never thought I’d be advocating for self-disrepair, but that’s the cutest oxidation pattern I’ve ever seen—you’re not going to polish it off, are you?”_

_Dirty, so dirty. Scrub it off, scrape it away, don’t want her_ looking _at it, don’t want her_ saying _anything—_

_“But they_ are _pretty.”_

Why hadn’t she felt dirty after that?

She’d felt—

“Rabbit?”

Startled, Rabbit fumbled the books in her hands, sending them all tumbling to the workshop floor. The Spine frowned at her. “Everything all right?”

“Y-yeah,” Rabbit assured him. She forced a halfhearted grin to her face and quickly began to restack the books. “I’ll j-j-just get outta your hair, here—”

“No, it’s okay.” The frown hadn’t left Spine’s face, but he seemed more perplexed than angry as he approached Rabbit, hanging up his coat on a peg on the wall. “It’s late. What were you doing in here?”

Caught, Rabbit grimaced and hefted the pile of books so The Spine could see them over the worktable. “Reading. Thought he might like it.”

“Ah.” The Spine’s face was unreadable as he pulled up a chair. “Have you been reading to him… most nights?”

“Y-yeah.” Rabbit fidgeted, trying to ignore the heat building up in her boiler. “Past few days, now. I don’t remember seein’ you, though—how late is it?”

“Almost midnight,” The Spine said. “And you wouldn't have seen me. I… I haven’t been visiting much.”

It was Rabbit’s turn to frown at that. “How c-c-come? You were spendin’ all that time with Michael tryin’ to fix ‘im…”

“And not getting anywhere,” The Spine said flatly. “The… glitch in Jon’s system is a serious one, and I’m not sure we’re going to be able to fix it. I… needed some time.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he studied The Jon’s sleeping face. “Even if Miss Moreau comes back to help us, I’m not sure this can be fixed. Jon might not ever be fully functional again.”

Rabbit felt chilled to the core. He wasn't seriously suggesting…? No, he couldn't be. They couldn’t just give up on Jon, Rabbit wouldn't let them.

“He was doing just fine up until this week,” Rabbit said defiantly, “even with that v-v-void in his chest. He ain’t broken for good, not yet.”

The Spine looked at her sharply enough that the joints of his neck creaked. “How long have you known?”

Rabbit shrank back a little at the intensity in The Spine’s voice. “I… it… a w-w-while now, I guess. He showed me that first morning when he was showin’ me the horses.”

“That long…” The Spine rubbed a hand over his face. “It explains everything, doesn’t it? How did I not see it?”

“Hey, now…” Rabbit scooted her chair over so that she could lay a hand on The Spine’s back. “It’s n-not the kind of thing you see every day. I don’t blame ya for not noticin’.”

“But I knew how unstable blue matter was,” The Spine insisted. “I should have thought of _something_ , should have asked Michael to look at him more closely, _anything._ ”

“He wasn’t lettin’ Michael look at him ‘cause he was afraid of him seein’ the void,” Rabbit pointed out. “I d-don’t think you askin’ him woulda made much difference.”

The Spine sighed. “I suppose not.” The two of them lapsed back into silence for a few moments, watching The Jon’s still body on the workshop table.

“I dunno why he didn't tell you first, Spine,” Rabbit said quietly. “Bein’ his brother and all, I thought he’d trust you way more.”

The Spine didn't reply at first. Expression pensive, his eyes remained fixed on Jon’s face.

“Jon… and I were never particularly affectionate,” he said at last. “He was built before me, but I was the more responsible one. I was always watching out for him, making sure he didn't get himself into trouble. He never really thought about the consequences of his actions, so I had to do it for him.” The side of his mouth quirked up in a bittersweet smile. “Really, I was more like his babysitter than his brother.

“But then you came along.” The Spine turned his head to look at Rabbit again. “And immediately, he was struck by _something_ in you. I’d never seen his thoughts so consumed by any one person before.”

Where was this going? The gears in Rabbit’s chest began to click along in double time, her boiler heating up by almost a full degree. “What’re you…”

“I think it’s a conversation you and Jon need to have on your own,” The Spine said. “Assuming, of course, that he can be lucid long enough to have it. But…” He laid a hand carefully on the worktable, near but not touching Jon’s shoe. “He does… care about you. No matter what happens, he would want you to know that.”

Rabbit’s chassis felt tight, like her gears had been wound up too much and needed to be reset.

Jon… liked _her? Rabbit?_ The way-Spine-liked-Brianna liked? Why? She wasn't particularly special, or good looking, or even particularly well-made. She _stuttered_ , twitched frequently, could barely speak Blue and only half understood it because she’d been made with blue matter.

Jon… Jon was _useful_ , friendly, well-liked. He had a job that he was good at, and people who would miss him if he broke for good. He had a _family._

Rabbit was just an ungrateful child who’d run away from home once things had gotten too hard, an insult to her mother and all of the sacrifices she had made for her since Pappy died.

She couldn’t do this.

“I… I g-g-gotta go,” Rabbit said abruptly, and stood from her seat so quickly that she knocked over the pile of books at her feet. “Needa plug in or somethin’. It’s late. I’ll—I’ll see ya later, Spine.” And with that she darted out the door without waiting to hear The Spine’s reply.

She hadn’t been expecting to run into Brianna.

She must have come with The Spine to visit Jon—though why she hadn’t come inside as well, Rabbit couldn't guess. She quickly backpedaled in an attempt to not hit her, just barely managing not to tip over herself. Brianna grabbed her arms to steady her, eyes wide in concern.

“Rabbit?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh—I—Uh, I was j-j-just—I—” Rabbit clamped her jaw shut on the stutter. _Calm down, you insufferable machine._ “I w-was just visitin’ Jon, like I guess you guys are. How come you’re not in there with him?” She gestured back at the door to the workshop.

“Spine wanted to be alone for a while,” Brianna explained, letting go of Rabbit to pull her cape a little tighter around herself. “So I was letting him. Are you okay? You seemed a bit upset.”

Rabbit shrank back. “Oh, I, uh… I dunno about that. I’m—”

“You’re most certainly not _fine_ , so your next word had better be something else.” Brianna tilted her head. “Are you worried about The Jon, too? Spine hasn’t been taking things very well. None of us have.”

Rabbit couldn't look at her. All she wanted was the safety and quiet of her cubicle, away from everyone’s eyes where she could just break down and try to deal with this new revelation without being judged, but it was _rude to just leave a conversation, Rabbit_ , so she scuffed her foot against the floorboards of the workshop’s porch and mumbled a quiet, “Y-yeah.”

“I’m so sorry,” Brianna continued. “We’re all hoping for Michael or Miss Delilah to figure out a way to help, but it’s always terrible to have a loved one be ill.”

Rabbit winced. “He’s not… It’s n-n-n-not like… He’s n-not a—” She couldn't bring herself to say it.

_Loved one._ Like Ma and Pappy, Brianna and Spine—hugging and kissing and being close, and why would Jon ever want that with _Rabbit,_ what had she done to deserve—

Brianna’s eyebrows shot up, her cheeks darkening from pink to red.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t know—I thought you were, you two were always so close ever since you came here.”

“He n-n-never said anything,” Rabbit said miserably. “How was I s’posed to _know?_ Does everybody think we’re…?”

“I think a few of us suspected it,” Brianna said carefully. She took a few steps closer and enveloped Rabbit in a tight hug. “I wasn’t quite sure when Spine first brought it up, but he said that Jon’s feelings were as plain as day.”

“Not to me,” Rabbit said. “I n-n-never… Pappy never really taught me about it, ‘cept a little bit about where babies come from. Before I got here I never even knew a robot _could_ feel stuff like that.”

“Mm. It’s complicated, isn’t it?” Brianna pulled back from the hug, then craned her neck up to look at the sky. “It’s looking like rain. How about I walk you back to the charging house and then you can get some rest?”

Rabbit glanced back into the workshop. “What about The Spine?”

“He’ll be okay.” Brianna held out a hand. “You want to go?”

She supposed she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Reluctantly, Rabbit took Brianna’s hand and allowed herself to be led off the porch and down the street towards the charging house.

Neither of them spoke at first. The only sounds were those of the wind and their own feet, crunching over the brown and crumbling leaves strewn across the road. Far from being awkward, however, Rabbit welcomed the silence.

She needed to think.

Brianna wasn't like the other humans. That wasn't to say, of course, that the other humans were bad, or even that they were all the same, but even Michael sometimes fell back into the mindset of viewing their problems as strictly mechanical: a screw that was loose here, a line of code that needed to be debugged or rewritten there.

Brianna, on the other hand, whether it was due to her relationship with The Spine, or living with Jenny, or some inexplicable facet of her personality, acted as if none of that mattered. She talked to the automatons, tried to understand them, gave them advice that was no different than what she’d give to any of the town’s children. She thought of them as human, and that was something that Rabbit had not come across since leaving Ma.

Maybe she’d understand.

They’d reached the charging house. Rabbit needed to ask her now, or she might not ever get up the courage to ask again. But what was she supposed to say?

“Well, here we are.” Brianna stopped a few paces away from the door, squeezing Rabbit’s hand in what Rabbit assumed was meant to be a comforting gesture. “I’m sorry, again, for what I assumed earlier. I know this is hard enough without having those sorts of expectations on you. But remember that you can talk to me anytime you need, okay?”

Rabbit nodded. “Thanks, Bri.”

“My pleasure. Sleep well.” Brianna rose up on her toes to place a kiss on Rabbit’s cheek and then, with a brief hug, started off back down the road.

_Ask her._

“Bri,” Rabbit gritted out. Stopping abruptly in her tracks, Brianna turned back to look at her.

“Yes, Rabbit?”

She had to. She had to ask.

“Is it—” _You can do it, Rabbit._ “Is it… w-worth it?”

For a brief moment, Brianna looked at her with brows furrowed as though she didn't quite know what Rabbit was referring to, but then understanding dawned and her face broke out into one of the sweetest smiles Rabbit had ever seen on her.

“Yes,” she said, eyes and voice warm. “Almost always, Rabbit, love is something worth trying for.”

“Okay.” The tension throughout her chassis settled somewhat at Brianna’s words, although a curious bubbling had now started up inside her boiler. Gosh, was this love business as disruptive for humans as it was for robots? “Th-thanks, Bri. I’m… gonna go do some thinking ‘bout all this.”

“Okay.” Brianna smiled at her again. “Good night, Rabbit. We’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that she turned and set off once more down the road. Rabbit watched her go, thinking for several minutes, then opened the door to the charging house as quietly as she could and retreated into the safety of her cubicle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it may be showing my age by mentioning this, but the book Rabbit was reading from is actually from the movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang- I have no idea if it's a real book or what the name is, but I've heard that line so many times since I was five that I can hear it perfectly in my head, and I wanted to give it a little nod. (I needed SOMETHING that could plausibly be from this time period, after all. :P)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we finally get to the flashback I've had written for MONTHS. I am so excited :D Many of the sections in this chapter have been floating around the story document for ages, with no really defined place to go. I'm happy to finally share them with you all, and I hope that you enjoy them (as well as the freshly written parts, of course).
> 
> And for those of you on the East Coast, I hope you're enjoying Snowmageddon just as much as I am ;P

Darkness.

_Whirr._

_Click. Whirr whirr._

Why was it dark?

…

She couldn’t think clearly.

Her processor was firing, slowly, like honey dripping—

Blip.

Blip.

Blip.

She’d been shut down incorrectly.

            Forced reset.

            Cause unclear.

_Engage startup routine._

Core resuming activity, boiler heating, processor warming up.

_Check for malfunctions._

Messages sent to extremities…

Messages returning: hands, feet, back, chest, joints, core, nasal system, oral system, bellows, cranium, eyes—

Eye.

_Alert. Left photoreceptor unresponsive._

Diagnose:

            Foreign material in eye.

            Photoreceptor offline.

Steps to solve:

  1. Dslkgjlksdslndknkmljdhgewldkjlsjcdlkbnmhgekdmsvl…



…?

Incomprehensible input.

Resolve.

_Ddsljfidsgkjladlvskfjhmgoirelaskdhncsdkjbnmlieawlasjxioclklfk.g—_

Rabbit jerked, right eye flooding with light as it flared open to reveal Becile leaning over her, backlit by the harsh glare of a worklamp dangling from the ceiling.

“Whaaaa—”

_Can’t move, can’t move, tied down, can’t see—_ Rabbit struggled against the straps holding her to the table, boiler frothing into a frenzy as panic began to mount in her system. “W-w-w-w-w-w-what are you d-d-doooooing, w-w-w-what-what-what are you—why—”

“Don’t move,” Becile ordered, pressing a steadying hand against her forehead. “The instrument is delicate, you’re going to break it.”

“W-what are you doing?” Rabbit pleaded again. Steam was billowing from her vents at a near-constant rate in a desperate bid to lower her temperature, but the churning water refused to settle. “W-w-w-whaddaya got in my eye, why can’t I _see_ , why—”

“Rabbit,” Becile said sternly. “Stop talking or I’ll disconnect your vocal processor. I’ve almost finished, and I need to concentrate.”

“Almost finished what?” The wires behind her eye felt all wrong—something was there that wasn’t supposed to be, something holding her eye open and blocking light from entering her pupil. Did it hurt? Rabbit couldn’t tell, but if it didn’t come out soon she was going to short circuit and black out again. “Please, please, get it out of me, I don’t wanna do it, get it out, get it out, get—”

“Rabbit. Last warning.” Becile leaned forward, made a tiny adjustment to the instrument piercing Rabbit’s eye, and then a jolt of electricity shot through Rabbit’s processor, down her spine, and back up again to disperse across her face.

Rabbit howled, back arching against the current. Commands for conscious control of movement broke into static, and then with another cry Rabbit began to thrash her head from side to side, trying to dislodge whatever it was that was stuck inside of her.

“Rabbit!” Becile shouted, but Rabbit wasn’t listening.

_SttttUCK, stuck, get it out, get it out—DANGER: wire strain, loose bolt, hold position—nooooo, no, need to get it out—ALERT: photoreceptor loose, high oil pressure, MAINTAIN POSITION, DAMAGE IMMINENT—_

_Clink._

Rabbit stilled, bellows heaving, cheeks still exhaling steam.

_Connection to photoreceptor lost._

_Oil leak detected: plugging._

Above her, Becile’s face was thunderous.

Rabbit cringed, clenching her good eye shut and turning her face towards the table below her, but the blow she was expecting never came. Rather, sharp footsteps echoed across the lab floor, paused for a moment by the door, and then disappeared down the hall.

The lights clicked off a few seconds later.

No.

_No._

Rabbit began to struggle again, the sense of panic returning along with the darkness. He couldn't do this, couldn't just _leave_ Rabbit here, not again. Not in the dark, not tied down, unable to move, unable to see, her eye, her _eye—_

Rabbit let out a low moan, sagging helplessly against the straps. The oil leak was mostly stemmed by this point, but the wires in her optic circuit were still live, and with the insulation stripped from the ends, the signals were interfering with each other and sending near-constant sparks of pain back up to her processor.

How long was Becile going to leave her down here this time? Hours? Days? She couldn't tolerate that, not this time.

Desperately trying to focus through the pain, Rabbit navigated back through her coding to find the folder containing her essential functions.

_BEBOP Operating System… Initialization Protocols… Manual Shutdown._

_Activate._

_Executive authorization required._

“Ei… eighteen… n-n-n-ninety-six,” Rabbit panted.

_Code invalid._

Rabbit’s core might as well have stopped.

“W-what?” That wasn’t possible; Pappy had programmed that code into her, that was her failsafe, her executive override for _everything_ , how could it not be correct?

“Eighteen ninety-six,” Rabbit said again, voice rising in pitch. “Eighteen ninety-six, eighteen ninety-six, _eight-eight-eighteen n-n-ninety-six!_ ”

_Code invalid._

“No!” Rabbit pulled as hard as she could against the straps, fingertips blaring as her hands clenched into fists in her desperation. What had Becile done to her? “Come back, come _back, please!_ ”

_Please…_

 

 

Rabbit’s eyes snapped open, her processor’s status shifting abruptly from standby to fully awake.

Her eye—

Frantically she reached for it, tapping it with trembling fingers to make sure it was still there.

_Photoreceptor connected and functional. Analyzing color data and comparing to baselines…_

As that process began to run in the background, Rabbit slumped back against the wall and closed her eyes, dragging her fingertips slowly along the concrete floor in an attempt to calm herself.

_Surface incline of 1.15%, surface perfection 84.65% smooth…_

She was home, safe, in her cubicle in Balboa. Becile couldn't find her here, didn't know where she was. Her hands were fixed, her eye was fine. All fine.

_…Manual shutdown: executive authorization required._

“Rabbit? Rabbit, are you up?”

Startled, Rabbit gave a jerk, banging her head against the wall behind her. “Ow… Spine? What… w-w-w-what’s the problem?”

“Jon’s awake, Rabbit. He wants to talk to you.”

A flash of electricity as potent as a static shock sent Rabbit’s wires thrumming. Jon—Jon was _awake?_ As in, up-and-able-to-speak-awake? _Alive?_ Boiler churning, Rabbit sprung up from where she’d been coiled in the corner and rushed to open the cubicle door.

“W-w-w-what happened?” she demanded. “Did Michael fix him? Is he b-b-better?”

“Slow down there, cowgirl,” The Spine said, but he was smiling. Smiling. That was a good sign. “He’s not back to normal just yet, but Michael found a way to reroute his signals so he doesn't panic when he can’t get online. Sort of like a safe mode. Do you want to go see him?”

Seeing Jon. After Spine had told her… after Jon had said… Rabbit felt dizzy. Would Jon remember what he’d said when he was broken? Did Rabbit _want_ him to remember?

But she couldn't _not_ go see Jon now—she’d been waiting all week for him to get better and now he was, and… and Rabbit just needed to buck up and face her fear, like Pappy used to say.

She could do this.

She hoped.

 

-

 

“Now remember,” The Spine said as he reached to open the workshop door, “his language centers still aren’t back online. He’ll be able to understand you in English now, though, which is more than what we had yesterday.”

Rabbit nodded. “Gotcha.”

The Spine opened the door and led Rabbit inside, knocking lightly on the wall separating Michael’s work station from the rest of the building. “Everything still all right, Michael?”

Michael turned to look at them through the open doorway, his face more at ease than Rabbit had seen it in days. “Come on in, guys, he’s doing great.”

The Spine gestured for Rabbit to go first. Suddenly nervous, Rabbit edged her way forward, fidgeting with the ends of her gloves. From his spot on the worktable, The Jon turned his head to face her.

“Hi-hiya, Jon.” Rabbit looked over anxiously at The Spine and Michael before taking a seat. “How’re ya feeling, buddy?”

“ _Oh, you know._ ” Jon smiled up at her tiredly. His eyes were dimmer than usual, but at least they were lucid. “ _Michael says I’ve been like this for a few days._ ”

“Almost a week, y-yeah.” Rabbit looked down at her hands. “D-does, uh. Does Michael have an idea of when you’re gonna be fixed?”

Jon’s shoulders made an odd, jerky shrug motion.

“ _He doesn't know how to get me back on the network,_ ” he twittered. “ _Miss Delilah’s supposed to be sending help soon, but I…_ ” His eyes drifted shut as if he were about to slip into stasis. “ _I’m just happy to see you again._ ”

“Now, Jon,” The Spine cut in before Michael could ask what had made steam pour from Rabbit’s vents, “Rabbit was in here several nights this week reading to you. That was very kind of her, wasn't it?”

“ _Oh, you were?_ ” The Jon’s eyes cracked back open as his expression fell into dismay. “ _I’m sorry, Rabbit, I don’t really remember much, but that was really nice of you, thank you._ ”

“ _No problem,_ ” Rabbit tweeted awkwardly. “Um, so—”

“ _What about the band?_ ” The Jon asked suddenly, looking back over at The Spine in concern. “ _Have you been playing? Are people angry?_ ”

“Everything’s okay, Jon, it’s all right,” The Spine reassured him. “People understand why we aren’t playing, they’re not angry.”

That didn't seem to make The Jon feel any better.

“ _Oh, but Jules and Robin are so terrible,_ ” he moaned, his vocals growing slightly fragmented. “ _Can’t… can’t Rabbit take my place? You could teach her the bass lines for my songs._ ”

“Oh, no, no way,” Rabbit said. “I’m not takin’ n-n-nobody’s place.”

“ _Come on, Rabbit,_ ” The Jon pleaded. “ _That’s what we’ve been teaching you music for, so you can be part of the band—I’m sure you’d do fine, you can play so much better now than you could before._ ”

“I’m pretty sure I know what he’s saying, so I’ll agree,” Michael cut in. “You’ve picked up the guitar and the accordion pretty well, Rabbit, I’m sure you’d do fine with the bass.”

“Have you n-n-not been listening?” Rabbit demanded, pointing at her throat. “I can’t _sing_ like this, I’d b-be the laughingstock of town if I glitched during a song! It ain’t happening.”

“You could stick to harmonizing,” The Spine suggested. “Let Michael and I sing lead until you either get more confidence or The Jon recovers.”

“I…”

She couldn't. Becile had said so. She was too glitchy to sing in front of people! She’d get anxious and then her voice would _st-st-stutter_ out and then everyone would laugh at her and the band would be ruined and it would be all her fault.

On the other hand… Jon was right. That _had_ been the entire point of teaching her music from the start; chickening out now would mean being terribly ungrateful for all of the time and energy they’d spent training her. She couldn't back out now.

“I…” Rabbit sighed. “Maybe.”

“ _Yayyyy!_ ” The Jon chirped excitedly. “ _You’ll do great, Rabbit, I pro—… I prom… I…_ ” The blue behind his eyes flickered slightly and his expression grew vacant. “ _Oh…_ ”

“Jon?” The Spine leaned forward in his chair, tone concerned. “Everything all right?”

“ _I’m… tired…_ ” Jon’s brow was creased, his voice faint. Michael stood and went to his side.

“I think it’s about time you went back to sleep,” he said kindly. “Give your circuits time to rest, okay?”

“ _Oh….kay._ ” The Jon allowed himself to be shifted forward, eyes drifting closed as Michael felt for the shutdown switch on his back. “ _Goodnight, Spi…Spine… and Ra…bbit…_ ”

The light behind his eyes dimmed as he began to shut down and The Spine, after watching a moment longer to make sure that everything was going smoothly, turned to face Rabbit expectantly.

“I can get the new sheet music to you by this evening,” he said, “and a quick write-up of the harmonies so you can begin to study them. The Jon would be the best teacher for those, of course, but Michael and I can help in a pinch.”

Rabbit forced a smile. “Thanks, Spine, that’s n-nice of you.”

“And try not to worry too much about the glitching,” Michael told her. “If it really comes down to it, I can try writing a dampening program to cut down on the over-activity. It’s worked before for a few other robots with more severe physical glitches than yours, but I think it should work just fine for vocal glitches, too.”

Static began to fill Rabbit’s processor, but she did her best to keep her expression cheerful. Humans didn't like it when you insisted on keeping something broken.

“Thanks, M-Michael. That’s nice of you, too.”

 

~ * ~

 

It wasn't that hard, getting used to the new eye.

(Becile had installed it less than a day after the removal of the old one; it was a wordless affair, quick and clinical, with no mention of Rabbit’s executive codes nor an explanation as to why Becile had been tinkering with her optics in the first place. Afterwards, once Becile had removed the straps and pointed silently at the door, Rabbit had fled the lab without a word and barricaded herself inside her room for three days.)

The signals it sent were much faster than the ones in the eye Pappy had installed, and it was faster to come online in the morning when Rabbit came out of stasis. It even, Rabbit grudgingly admitted, was a very close match in color to the light that shone out of her blue matter core. All in all, it was a fine piece of hardware that by all rights she should have been thrilled to receive.

Rabbit hated it.

She hated that it made it seem like the eye Pappy had given her was the fallback, the dull and mismatched replacement for the proper piece that had obviously been broken, or misplaced, or waylaid. She hated the speed of it, the elegance of the coding in the signals it sent, its ability to correct for color in dark or poorly-lit rooms. She hated (at first) that it made her have to calculate and adjust her perception times to account for the different signal speeds in each eye, and then she hated that it corrected for this discrepancy on its own several days later.

It was a beautiful piece of technology, and Rabbit hated that Pappy hadn’t given it to her first.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated Easter, everyone! This chapter took a bit longer than I had anticipated: life's been busy what with the move and all, but I'm pretty happy with how this turned out. :) I hope you guys enjoy it.
> 
> (And for those of you who've seen the Quest for the Harp of Golden Dreams movie, this chapter will have a nice inside joke for you. ;) )

Now that there was a plan in place, the tension that had been fermenting in the group was dissipating almost as quickly as it had come.

The Spine began consulting the saloon’s owners about a potential date for their new act (much to Rabbit’s anxiety and the townspeople’s relief). He’d also made good on his promise to get Rabbit the new sheet music and harmonies, and had spoken with Jon about teaching Rabbit his songs.

Michael still checked in on The Jon regularly, but his work on Hatchworth had taken on a renewed fervor and within a matter of days, a pile of shiny new brass limbs had appeared on his workshop table.

Even Brianna was much more cheerful, and had begun working with Jenny to sew a proper performing outfit for Rabbit. (The measuring session had been a nightmare; Rabbit had been forced to stand shirtless in front of the two women, desperately trying to ignore them as they scrutinized and took notes on her chassis for almost an hour. She spent nearly twice that with The Jon afterwards, hunched over on a stool in the workshop as Jon’s chest rose and fell in low-level stasis.)

She wasn't ready for this.

She didn't care that Pappy had built her with blue matter, had built and programmed her with music in mind. Somewhere along the line, Rabbit had gotten wired wrong, and now all she was good for was huddling in corners, hiding and crying and being a nuisance to others. She deserved to be wiped and restored to defaults; maybe she’d have a chance then of living up to what everyone expected her to be.

Not since escaping Becile’s house had she wanted to turn herself off so badly. It wouldn't be permanent; someone was bound to find her within a day or so and turn her back on again, it wouldn't hurt her systems at all if she did it in a safe place…

But then Jon would look at her, or say her name in that love-tweet-whistle that Rabbit wasn't even sure he was aware of using, and the gears would twist in her chest as she thought of how Jon would feel if he learned what Rabbit had done.

She couldn't do that to Jon.

But she couldn't perform either.

What was she supposed to do?

 

-

 

“ _I’d like to fly across all of the world in a balloon. I’d give my pair of socks to a clown who’s lost his on the moon._ ” The Jon smiled at her, oblivious to the staticky fear buzzing through Rabbit’s limbs. “ _You try._ ”

It wasn't that she didn’t know the melody, exactly; The Spine had given her the harmony sheets, after all, and Jon was still able to hum the tune to guide her. And the words, as ridiculous as they were, weren’t particularly difficult.

It was just…

She had no programming for this. It was one thing to learn where to press a particular string to make a particular sound, but manipulating her vocal chords to recreate a specific tone, where making the wrong one would completely ruin the performance?

She couldn't.

“ _I’d like… to fly,_ ” Rabbit mumbled, hardly able to hear her own voice over the hum of her core. The Jon shook his head.

“ _You’ve got to sing louder than that, Rabbit, no one will hear you that way._ ”

Rabbit clenched her hands in her lap.

“ _I’d like to fly across… all of the world…_ ” She wasn’t hitting the notes, even she could tell that; it was as though they were scrolling by in front of her eyes and every one she missed turned bright red and quivered as if to chastise her: _you failed, you failed._

“ _No, that’s not it either. You’re just sort of talking with pitch._ ” The Jon shifted on the worktable. “ _Maybe use more air this time, that’s how humans do it._ ”

Her boiler temperature was climbing. Rabbit sucked in a few deep breaths to try and cool it off and then screwed her eyes shut as she tried again.

“ _I’d… l-l-l-like to fly across… all of the w-w-world—_ ”

“ _Rabbit, wait._ ” She couldn't help but flinch at The Jon’s tone, kind as it was. _How_ could he keep speaking to Rabbit that way? She was getting absolutely nowhere. “ _You’re trying too hard. You need to relax to let your core guide you properly._ ”

“My core?” Rabbit demanded. “W-w-what does it know? That’s n-n-not where my programming is, that's not where I think!”

“ _Your core is what gives you music,_ ” The Jon said, unfazed. “ _It doesn't need to think, it just knows._ ”

“That’s the biggest bunch of hooey I’ve ev-ever heard.” She was being awfully rude, but she couldn't bring herself to care. For weeks they’d been insisting that she was musical, simply by virtue of having been made with blue matter, but obviously something else was missing—why else would Pappy have talked about the programming he was planning on giving Rabbit? A lump of blue matter wouldn't be able to sing on its own, right? So why would Rabbit have any more intrinsic ability?

“ _You played the guitar,_ ” Jon said quietly. “ _You figured out that song all on your own, didn't you?_ ”

“That doesn’t count,” Rabbit said defensively. “I had it me-me-me-memorized, I just had to find it and copy it, is all.”

“ _You found the notes,_ ” The Jon said. “ _You were figuring them out faster than a human would have._ ”

“It’s just logic—”

“ _YOU SPEAK BLUE!_ ”

Rabbit reared back in her seat at the strength of The Jon’s outburst, the golden automaton’s photoreceptors flashing and his voice almost painfully shrill from the surge in power.

“ _You speak Blue, Rabbit,_ ” The Jon continued a moment later, tone quieter and more mournful. “ _And you dream. And you_ found us _here, when you really needed us. You’re not just a normal robot. You can sing, I know you can, you just need to believe it and it’ll happen._ ”

Rabbit hung her head and let out an exhale of steam. Disappointing the others was bad enough, especially after all they had done for her. But letting down The Jon, who somehow lo—… Who _cared_ …

She felt ashamed.

“ _Don’t be sad, please,_ ” The Jon warbled, shifting as close to the edge of the table as he could. “ _Maybe you’re just thinking about this the wrong way, we can—_ ”

“Hey, guys?”

Michael popped his head through the doorway to the workshop. “Sorry for interrupting. Jon, there’s someone here to see you.”

The Jon and Rabbit exchanged confused glances, but before Rabbit could open her mouth and ask who was visiting who couldn’t just come right back, a mustachioed man with brilliant orange hair and a black bowler hat strode into the room, and The Jon’s face lit up like it was Christmas.

“ _Oh, Sam!_ ” he cried happily, his notes bubbly and bright. “ _I seem to have dropped my… core_.” His tone at the end quieted and grew rather embarrassed, as if he’d forgotten that he wasn’t speaking English. Hurriedly, he made a little circular motion where his core used to be and then mimed dropping something on the ground. Rabbit didn’t really understand—he hadn’t _dropped_ his core, after all; it had spontaneously _disappeared_ —but Sam only laughed and gave Jon a friendly pat on the back.

“You sure did, buddy.” He turned then to look at Rabbit. “Hello! Are you one of The Jon’s friends?”

“Uh… y-y-yeah.” That was the easiest way to put it. “I’m Rabbit. Pleased to meet’cha, Mister…?”

“Matter Master Samuel,” Sam said, “but you can call me Sam. I work very closely with Miss Moreau on her blue matter projects, of which The Jon and The Spine are two.” He tilted his head and peered more closely at Rabbit. “You appear to be fueled by blue matter as well; were you Colonel Walter’s project?”

“ _Daughter,_ ” The Jon chirped from the table. Sam seemed to recognize that word, at least, and looked suitably embarrassed as he quickly tipped his bowler in Rabbit’s direction.

“I’m very sorry,” he said. “For that, and for Colonel Walter’s death. He was a brilliant engineer, and I’m sure he was a wonderful father, as well.”

Rabbit averted her eyes.

“Do ya think you can fix The Jon?” she asked in a quiet voice. She was sure Sam meant well, but he hadn’t known Pappy the way Rabbit had. She didn't want to discuss it.

Jon was more important right now, anyway.

“Of course,” Sam replied, taking the hint. “We’ve been puzzling over this contingency at Moreau Robotics for some time now, and I’m confident that we can prevent the spread of the blue matter leak. As for the linguistic issues, those shouldn't be too hard to fix.” He glanced back at Michael, who was lounging against the doorframe, watching the exchange. “Shall we get started?”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “Jon?”

Jon reached out, curling his fingers around Rabbit’s hand resting on the worktable.

“ _Will I still… be me, after?_ ” he asked. He looked up at Rabbit, then the others, through his curly metal lashes. “ _I don’t want to be different when I wake up._ ”

“He don’t wanna change,” Rabbit told the humans. “Not on account’a the repairs. Is he still gonna be the same robot after?”

Sam smiled gently at them.

“The repairs do not touch his essential programming,” he said. “There’s going to be a slight rerouting of functions in order to get around the… temporal anomaly that's replaced his core, but his basic personality should remain unchanged.” He glanced over at the golden bot, eyes soft. “How does that sound to you, Jon? Do you trust old Sam to take care of you?”

The worried line of The Jon’s mouth cracked into a small smile, and then he let out a soft warble that confused Rabbit’s processor for almost two full seconds before resolving into a cartoon smiley face.

“I… I think he’s good,” Rabbit said, puzzled.

“Great. Michael, if you could help…”

The two began to busy themselves with lowering the slab and gathering their tools and Rabbit, suddenly feeling superfluous, backed away.

_“How does this feel, Mr. Walter? Can you breathe easier now?”_

_What…?_

Rabbit’s head tic’ed sharply to the side as what felt like a bolt of electricity flashed down her spine.

_“Pappy… Are they hurting you?”_

_Error in temporal orientation detected. Manual input required: year __|?_

“Okay, Jon, we’re going to turn you off now. You’ll feel better when you wake up, I promise.”

A confused warble.

_Rabbit? When are you?_

_Mr. Walter? Stay with us, now._

_Dizzy… so dizzy…_

_Rabbit…?_

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

~ * ~

 

_There was something inside of her._

_Something inside her brain, her skull, listening to her thoughts and monitoring her every move._

_She couldn't hear it, couldn't pinpoint it in any of her diagnostics, but she knew it was there. It had to be._

_I’m not crazy, am I, Pappy? You didn’t make me crazy._

She’d be lying if she said that she’d never thought of simply ripping out the new eye herself, permanently breaking and tearing out the connections in her optic circuits. She’d be broken then, damaged, imperfect. Maybe then Becile would give up on whatever it was he was searching for, once he realized that Rabbit was nothing more than a malfunctioning lump of metal. Normal, perfectly functioning automatons didn’t just rip out their own parts, didn’t fantasize about shutting themselves off and never being woken up again. There was something wrong with her now, something that even Pappy might not have been able to fix were he still alive.

She could hardly stand to look at herself anymore; she avoided mirrors like the plague, manually turned off the eye at night so she wouldn’t have to see the blue glow reflecting in the window panes. Dressing took too much energy but even the sight of her own copper plating made her feel ill, so she took to lying lethargically on her bed, fully clothed, hardly shifting except to occasionally refill her boiler.

What had Pappy done while building her that Becile was so determined to steal? She wasn’t special simply because she’d been built with blue matter, simply because it had been Colonel Walter who’d made her. There was nothing worth stealing in her chassis or brain, but short of tearing out all of her gears or frying her circuits to a crisp, Rabbit didn’t know how to convince him.

 

-

 

“Rabbit. Have a seat.”

Rabbit blinked slowly, expression blank as she gazed uncomprehendingly at the tall wooden chair before her.

Delilah had woken her from low-level stasis about a quarter of an hour earlier with a summons to meet the Beciles down in the family dining room. After months of asking and waiting and begging to be let in, the long-awaited invitation felt somehow hollow now.

_Sit down. They’re waiting for you._

Through limbs stiff and aching from disuse, Rabbit forced herself forward and pulled out the chair with an undignified screech. She sat; the wood groaned underneath her weight but held. She lifted her eyes to the humans seated across the table.

_Speak._

“We’ve been discussing your… continued stay here,” Becile began before Rabbit could manage to mobilize her mouth. “Due to your mother’s… abnegation of her duties, shall we say, Hannah and I have realized that it has now fallen upon us to take over your care and well-being.”

_Processing… processing…_ Rabbit’s aural circuits strained over the words, repeating and repeating them in a vain attempt to understand.

_Care._

_Care and well-being._

_Continued… stay?_

_Care and well-being._

_Mother’s abnegation._

_…Oh._

_Oh no—_

“Therefore,” Becile continued, oblivious to Rabbit’s rising internal panic, “in order to ensure your proper maintenance, we have graciously decided to accept you into our home permanently. Provided, of course, that you make yourself useful and assist with the household as necessary.”

_No._

_Nononononono—Pappy, don’t let them do this, don’t let them keep me here look at my brain look at my core steal your secrets steal your work I won’t let them I—I—I—_

“Well?” Becile asked impatiently. “Do you have any opinion at all?”

“IIIIIIIII—” Rabbit’s voice stalled, then began to glitch out, fragmenting into a staticky, multi-toned mess. “I don’t wwwwwwwwant to, I don’t wwwwwaaaaaant to—”

“Can’t you shut it off?” Hannah demanded, just as Becile raised a threatening hand to Rabbit’s cheek.

“Turn it off, Rabbit,” he warned. Whether he meant to strike Rabbit or merely uncouple her jaw, Rabbit didn’t know, but she flinched and immediately pulled the code running to her articulation centers.

_Closing files…_

_Rebooting…_

“…Please,” Rabbit whispered as soon as they were back online. “I just want to go home. Please let me go b-b-back home.”

“Your _home_ is gone,” Hannah replied tersely, as if Rabbit were a particularly thick child. “For better or for worse, you’re going to be kept _here,_ now, and I suggest you accustom yourself to it. Provided I don’t dismantle you myself in the meanwhile.” And with that she stood, steps tightly measured as she all but stormed from the room. Rabbit gazed after her for a moment, then looked back at Becile.

“Ma…”

“Is _gone_ , Rabbit. Hannah’s right; this is your home now. Try and make the best of it.” Becile stood as well, brushing invisible dust from his waistcoat and trousers. “Now, and this is not meant to be rude, but if you cannot manage to get a handle on your vocal coding soon, I will have to go in and alter it myself. Hannah cannot abide by the glitches, no matter how endearing you believe them to be, and since you’re going to be staying, well…” He shrugged. “I’m afraid there’s little choice in the matter.”

Rabbit didn't know where the words came from, much less the courage it took to utter them. At any other moment she would have been too cowed to try, would have turned tail and slunk out of the room to go hide like the excuse of an automaton she’d become. But she found them falling from her lips anyway, expelled with a force and backed up by a heat she could feel building all the way from inside her core:

“Pappy would _never_ have let you do this if he was alive.”

It felt good to say it, to give voice to the resentment and pain that had been building up in her frame for so long; steam filled her boiler, ready to be released along with another tirade, but Becile merely studied his nails, unimpressed, and Rabbit’s bellows deflated in a rush.

“If he _were_ alive,” Becile corrected absently. “And Colonel Walter _is_ dead, as it happens, so I fail to see your point. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

And just like that, the spark was gone. Rabbit watched Becile go, shutting the door behind himself with a click as if the room were empty, and a strange swell of unease settled over her chassis. Waves of heat and resolve and cold, creeping despair stuttered by turns through her core, each pushing her further towards opposite extremes.

_You can’t fight it. You can’t fight it. He won’t let you. You won’t win._

_Not fair, he can’t do this, can’t ignore you, you can’t let him, won’t let him._

_Pappy wouldn't let you do this._

Rabbit’s fingers curled into fists, copper joints clicking against each other as her fingers flexed open and closed.

Becile wanted her to just roll over and play dead. To be like Delilah, obedient, subservient, a _machine._

Well, was Rabbit going to have a surprise for him.

Ma might have deserted her, but Pappy would never have wanted her to just give up and give in. Rabbit would keep his secrets from Becile if it was the last thing she ever did. She would fight until her last line of coding was corrupted, until the last scrap of copper in her body was rusted and flaking and her core was offline.

She was determined, now. Becile would _never_ learn the secrets of blue matter, not while Rabbit still had breath and oil in her body.

She would fight.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some... Developments in this chapter. Also some light sexual content and innuendo, but nothing too graphic. Enjoy.

_Temporal orientation reinstated. The year is 1897._

_G.o.o.d..m.o.r.n.i.n.g.,R.a.b.b.i.t._

Reflex signals sparked off haphazardly to her limbs and Rabbit, hovering somewhere between low-level stasis and awareness, suddenly jerked awake with a gasp of steam. Michael’s face pixelated into view in her right eye, above her and to the side.

“Sorry, those are probably stronger than you’re used to. Lemme turn the power down.” Michael reached behind her to fiddle with something and the excess current quickly simmered down to more tolerable levels. “How are you feeling?”

“I—” Her diagnostics were all coming back positive, nothing broken or malfunctioning, but nonetheless, something felt distinctly _off_ inside her chassis. “What happened?”

“You… fainted, I guess,” Michael said, leaning backwards on his work stool. “Sam and I had just started on Jon and you started saying some really weird things. Next thing I knew you had fallen over and were offline. How are your diagnostics?”

“F-fine.” Rabbit began to push herself upright. “How’s The Jon? Is he awake?”

“Not yet,” Michael said. He put an arm behind Rabbit’s back, helping her lift the weight as he uncoupled the charging cable from Rabbit’s head. “We wanted you to be there when he woke up. Can you stand?”

“I’m gonna darn w-well try,” Rabbit said. “Help me get my legs over.”

Together, the two of them got Rabbit back to her feet, and a few seconds of experimental shuffling later, Rabbit was ready to rejoin the others.

“Now, we’re assuming that everything is going to be fine,” Michael told her as they reached the workshop. “But just in case it isn’t, don’t freak out on him. We want him to stay as calm as possible to lower the chance of stress malfunctions. Do you think you can do that?”

Rabbit nodded. “Y-yeah, that’s fine.”

“Okay.” Michael opened the door and threw Sam, who was closely monitoring the readouts from a small handheld machine, a wave. “Is he ready to come back online?”

“Should be,” Sam said. “I can’t detect any stray blue matter around him, so we’ve managed to contain the leak, at least.”

“Great.” Michael pulled his goggles down over his eyes and pulled on a pair of work gloves. “All right, guys… Switching online in three… two… one.”

A low thrumming sound started deep within The Jon’s chassis, quickly followed by a series of mechanical clicks and whirrs. After a few seconds the humming changed pitch, and then a dim blue light came on behind Jon’s eyelids.

His eyes opened.

“Hiya, Jon,” Michael said. “How’re you feeling?”

The Jon didn't reply right away. He seemed a bit distracted, Rabbit thought, or at the very least far away. But the hundred-yard-stare slowly shortened and shortened, and finally he seemed to be able to focus on Michael’s face.

He tweeted something, soft and breathy; Rabbit got the impression of clouds, and a ring of pastel colored smoke, but no words. She looked over at Michael.

“Still sleepy, huh?” Michael asked. The Jon’s mouth quirked up into a lopsided smile and his eyes slipped closed again. Michael bit his lip, then touched The Jon on the shoulder.

“I know you’re tired, buddy, but we need to check your vitals. Can you run through the traditional startup protocol for me? I’ll plug you in if you need the energy.”

The Jon let out a soft, protesting whistle but nodded, faceplates suddenly tightening in concentration. The whirring inside his chassis slowed, briefly intensified, and then calmed again, and when he opened his eyes once more, they seemed much more lucid, if still dim.

“Okay.” Michael smiled. “That’s better, Jon, that’s good. Now, some basic tests before you try and talk. Basic Logic Programs one through three, signal when you’re done.”

Rabbit watched, fascinated, as Jon’s eyes suddenly focused and then began to dart from side to side and top to bottom as if reading a giant book that had been placed directly in front of his face. Five seconds later, he stopped with a quiet chirp and refocused on Michael expectantly.

“Okay, great.” Michael grinned at him a bit more animatedly. “Scales, now. Fallback vocals first.”

Dutifully, Jon tweeted a series of descending notes and Rabbit, in the privacy of her own mind, wriggled in glee as she managed to anticipate the notes before Jon sang them.

“Great. This is just great, Jon. Okay, last test. Scales with voice, go.”

The Jon hesitated for a moment, looking between Rabbit and Michael anxiously, then carefully inhaled and opened his mouth.

“Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh…”

Rabbit could have collapsed to the floor in a heap. Jon’s voice, she was hearing Jon’s voice again. Everything was fine, it was all right, Jon was safe.

Michael lifted up his goggles, expression as relieved as Rabbit felt. “Oh, it’s so good to hear you again, Jon. I think you can try talking now, go ahead.”

“Can I—” The Jon’s eyes widened. “I can talk! I can talk, I can _talk_ , Rabbit! I’m back to normal again, I—” He paused. Cocked his head as if listening for something. Began to frown, then tremble as his eyes widened again in horror.

Rabbit’s gears sped up as the atmosphere of joy quickly evaporated. “W-what’s wrong, Jon?”

“I can’t—” Oil welled up beneath The Jon’s photoreceptors and he looked desperately around at Rabbit and the humans in fear. “I still can’t hear them, why can’t I hear them? I’m still a-a-a _lone!_ ”

Rabbit’s core sank. The repairs hadn’t worked, then, or had only done some marginal good. Sam, however, looked almost guilty.

“It had to be done, Jon,” he said apologetically. “The wireless technologies we use for the network are incompatible with the energy source coming from your void. In order to get you functional again, we had to cut you off from your original core for good.”

Rabbit stared at him, aghast, while The Jon sobbed into his hands. “So I’m… I’m never gonna hear them again?”

“In all likelihood, no.” Sam sat alongside The Jon on the worktable, laying a comforting arm across his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Jon. I know this is going to be hard for you. But it was for your safety, and the safety of everyone here, that we did what we did.”

“But… but what am I supposed to _do?_ ” The Jon wailed, voice thick and faceplates wet with oil. “I—I can’t hear anybody, I can’t _talk_ to anyone!”

“Put me on his network.” The words spilled from Rabbit’s mouth before she could stop herself. “You can make a n-n-new one, can’t you? With just the two of us?”

Michael and Sam looked at each other in shock.

“That’s—we know absolutely nothing about your construction, Rabbit!” Michael exclaimed. “We don’t know how your circuits are wired, what sort of coding you have—”

“I have f-f-files,” Rabbit butted in. “I can tell you my specifications. But you can’t j-j-just leave him alone like that, it’s n-n-n-not right!”

“Rabbit…” The Jon sniffed, wiping his eyes on the threadbare ends of his sleeves. “It’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“No, it’s not okay.” Rabbit’s core was hot, her oil pumping so fast she could feel it rushing through her tubing. “How could you do-do this to him? He’s b-been hearin’ people for his whole life and then you just cut him off like he’s human an’ expect him to g-g-get used to it?” If she’d had saliva, she would have spit.

“Rabbit, please,” Michael entreated her. “You know why we had to—”

“You could’ve told’im first. You could’ve _asked._ ” She could still hear Jon’s cries as plainly as though they’d just been recorded in her memory banks.

_Anyone? Anyone? Why can’t anyone hear me?_

_I’m… alone._

“Get outta here, the both of ya,” Rabbit ordered. “I’m so mmmad I can’t look at either of ya right now.”

For a tense moment, she wasn't sure if the humans were going to obey. Michael’s face was the picture of determined obstinacy, and Sam, the relative newcomer, was looking to him for a cue. Rabbit refused to back down, however.

This was about Jon, and Jon deserved better.

“…Okay,” Michael said at last, lifting his hands in surrender. “Okay. You win.” He removed his gloves and goggles, throwing them onto the toolbox beside the slab. “Come on, Sam.”

The two of them left, Sam throwing concerned glances over his shoulder the whole while. Rabbit watched them carefully until the door shut behind them and then turned her attention back to The Jon.

“I’m sor—” she started, but before she could manage to get the words out, The Jon had propelled himself forward, throwing his arms around Rabbit’s chassis and burying his face in Rabbit’s chestplate.

“I love you, Rabbit,” he sobbed, tears starting anew. Rabbit froze momentarily— _danger, run/don’t deserve it/why me?/danger, run before he hurts you_ —but forced her arms to return the gesture, patting The Jon’s back gently with one hand.

“I… I know, buddy,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “I know.”

 

~ * ~

 

The next few days passed sluggishly. Rabbit avoided the workshop like the plague, preferring to spend most of her time with The Jon who had been allowed to return to his cubicle on the condition that he call for Michael or Sam if any complications arose. Rabbit had made her opinion on _that_ stipulation abundantly clear, although privately she knew that she would be of little use if Jon broke once again.

Michael, for his part, had avoided Rabbit as well. The few times they’d run across each other (mostly in passing at the saloon during instrument lessons from The Spine), the encounter had been an exercise in awkward silences and scathing glares. Sam, for his part, looked chastened whenever their paths crossed at the bar or the barn, but he never tried to strike up a conversation or explain away what they had done. Rabbit much preferred this approach.

As for her relationship with The Jon…

Things were complicated.

“You need to practice your singing, Rabbit,” The Jon admonished her a few days later as the two of them sat beneath a tree, Rabbit fiddling away on her accordion. She’d started out dutifully practicing her part for Ju Ju Magic, her favorite of the band’s songs, but a certain progression of notes had caught her ear and she’d begun to experiment with the sequence. “The concert’s in two weeks.”

Rabbit frowned, shifting a note a half-step downwards. “Why do I gotta sing at the concert, still? You’re better now, aren’t’cha?”

The Jon fidgeted. “Yes, but… Michael said I’m not supposed to overdo it while we’re playing. If I get tired, I’m supposed to stop right away.”

That got Rabbit to lower her accordion. “When did you talk to Michael?”

The Jon winced and pulled away from where he’d been leaning into Rabbit’s side. “You can’t stay mad at him forever, Rabbit. He was just trying to help me.”

“Sure I can.” Rabbit returned her attention to the accordion, punching out a series of notes that clashed painfully in her ears. “It’s his fault you’re alo-lo-lone now. I can be mad at him for as l-l-long as I like.”

“But I’m okay now,” The Jon protested, stilling Rabbit’s arm with a hand. “I’m… I’m getting used to it. And humans do it almost all the time, you know. If they can do it, I can do it, too.”

“It’s n-n-not the same,” Rabbit insisted. “He didn't even ask if ya wanted the repairs, if they were gonna do that to ya. He shoulda waited until he knew how to do it without takin’ the network away from you.”

The Jon’s mouth pulled to the side in a frown.

“I’d still be stuck in the workshop if he’d waited,” he pointed out. “I wouldn't be able to talk or sing, and I…” His tone turned shy as he sidled up close to Rabbit again. “I wouldn't be able to be here with you.” He stroked golden fingers gently up the back of Rabbit’s hand, tiny sparks emanating from his metal “skin”, and suddenly Rabbit’s thoughts were as good as offline.

The pressure was light, enough so that the sensors in her plating registered and lost the sensation multiple times as it travelled up her wrist and onto her arm; it should have been maddening, close enough to ticklish that she should have shoved The Jon’s hands away, but somehow Rabbit was drawn to it, curious enough that she found herself wondering what it would feel like if Jon were to place his hand on top of Rabbit’s chest plate, or perhaps right over her power core…

_“Iris, darling, not in the sitting room—” Muffled sounds, the rustling of clothing. “Rabbit has the—mm, yes—the run of the house now, she could come in at any—” pant— “any moment.”_

_“She’s terribly loud, your daughter.” Ma’s voice was teasing, the timbre deeper than Rabbit had ever heard it. “If she comes by, I’m sure we’ll hear her.” More rustling, a quiet, shaky sigh. “Relax, Peter. Let me…”_

“Stop!”

Frightened, Rabbit tore her arm away from The Jon’s hand, wrapping it protectively around her accordion as the leftover current dissipated into the air. “I—I d-d-don’t—what _was_ that?”

The Jon curled into himself, expression contrite as he looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry, Rabbit, I didn't mean to…”

_Peering through the crack in the door, curious: was Ma hurting Pappy? He was making the strangest noises, and…_

_Oh._

_OH, what were they DOING?_

_Ma and Pappy’s clothes were open, showing off those parts that Pappy had explained were supposed to be the most private, that other humans (and Rabbit) weren’t supposed to see, and they were… Ma was TOUCHING—_

“I… I gotta g-g-g-go.” Limbs shaking, Rabbit staggered upright, off-balance from the weight of the accordion hanging from her chest.

Did Jon want…? Was he trying to…? Rabbit had never heard of such a thing between robots before. They didn't even have the parts! Or at least, _she_ didn't—oh god, what if Jon…

“Rabbit!” Jon cried, leaping to his feet. “Don’t—I’m _sorry_ , I didn’t—”

Rabbit could only shake her head, holding onto the accordion like a lifeline.

“I can’t,” she said, the only two words that she could force her mouth to articulate. “I can’t, J-J-Jon, I can’t, I—”

The Jon stopped in his tracks, staring after Rabbit with wide eyes steadily filling with oil.

“Don’t,” he whispered, but Rabbit was already halfway to the barn.

 

-

 

She was being foolish, Rabbit scolded herself later, once the initial panic had worn off. The Jon lo—… _cared_ about her very strongly; he would never hurt Rabbit on purpose.

But Pappy had _warned_ her about this sort of thing.

_Sex, Pappy had explained—after Ma had swaddled Rabbit on the sofa in a thick cozy blanket and given her a mug of hot chocolate, after Rabbit had burst into the room, alarms blaring, demanding that Ma and Pappy put their clothes back on at once and for Ma to STOP EATING PAPPY, after Pappy had gone bright red and covered his face with his hands while Ma tucked herself back into her petticoats and gestured for Pappy to do the same—was a natural part of the human experience, nothing to be ashamed of at all. It was something that humans did amongst themselves to feel pleasure and, occasionally, to make new human beings._

_“Babbies,” Rabbit said, nodding. She’d seen plenty of babies in her picture books, being pushed around or carried by their mamas. She’d always wondered how exactly they came out…_

_“Yes, Rabbit, babies.” Pappy paused. “How to compare it to your experience? You don’t have nerve endings, and certainly not… erogenous zones.” He looked to Ma for help._

_“Electricity?” Ma suggested. “That’s how the different parts of the body communicate to each other, is it not?”_

_“Aha! Yes, perfect, darling.” Pappy kissed the side of Ma’s head gently. “You see, Rabbit, your body works through a complex system of electrical messages that are sent between your neural circuits and the rest of your limbs, similar to how our bodies work. Do you understand so far?”_

_“Uh-huh.” Rabbit took a sip of her hot chocolate, letting the bittersweet taste roll around her palate a moment before swallowing. Pappy had only recently installed the taste sensors in her tongue and cheeks, and Rabbit was trying to collect as much data for the initial de-bugging process as possible. “What’s that gotta do w-with what you and Ma were doin’?”_

_“Ah. Well. That.” Pappy cleared his throat and looked anxiously over at Ma again. “When… well. When human beings are touched in particular places, the… signals we get in our neural circuits are much… stronger than other signals. And we… find this experience enjoyable.”_

_Rabbit looked down at herself. Touched a hand to the place she had seen Ma touching on Pappy. Her processor registered the information, but nothing about it seemed particularly exciting._

_Pappy’s face was red again._

_“You were not created with the same parts as human beings,” he explained, voice strained as he gently redirected Rabbit’s hand. “I didn’t think it necessary, since you wouldn't be able to reproduce anyway.”_

_“Repro—”_

_“Make babies,” Pappy said patiently. “That is the technical term.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“But in any case.” Pappy’s face grew serious. “Sex and all it entails would likely, for you, be equivalent to an electrical storm in your brain, if you can imagine it. An overloading of circuits due to overwhelming stimuli. Do you remember when I was adjusting the sensitivity levels in your finger pads?”_

_Rabbit shivered at the memory, fingertips clinking lightly on the ceramic of her mug. “Oh. Yeah.”_

_“It would be similar to that overwhelmingness, I believe.”_

_Rabbit grew pensive. “Then why d’you guys like it so much? It sounds aw-aw-awful.”_

_Ma laid a gentle hand on Rabbit’s knee._

_“Our bodies are built for it,” she said quietly, stroking Rabbit’s leg through the fabric of her pants. “Yours might not be.”_

_“I don’t want you to damage yourself by experimenting with this,” Pappy said in the voice reserved for only the most important of Rules. “Your circuits are very fragile, Rabbit, and I don't want to lose you to something as frivolous as this. Do you understand me?”_

_“Yes, Pappy.” The hot chocolate no longer seemed appealing. Rabbit pushed the mug aside and curled deeper into her blanket, leaning against Ma as everything she’d learned began to file away into her long-term memory banks._

_Electricity was bad… but also good. It made Rabbit and Ma and Pappy run, but it could also hurt if there was too much. Touching those fleshy bits made humans feel good, but Rabbit didn't have any. Pappy hadn’t thought she needed them._

_But what if she wanted them?_

Rabbit felt vaguely ill. Why did this have to be so complicated? And why did Jon have to want… _that?_ If it would hurt Rabbit’s systems to play around with electricity, wouldn't it hurt Jon’s as well? Didn’t he _know_ that?

Maybe he didn't. Maybe no one had ever told him, the way Pappy had told Rabbit about the dangers of Sex.

Or maybe…

What if Rabbit was in the wrong? Jon and Spine and the others weren’t made the same way Rabbit was. They’d been made in a factory, by teams of mechanics and designed by Delilah herself. Rabbit had just been an experiment, conceived of and built by Pappy and no one else. Maybe they were built to withstand more than Rabbit was.

Rabbit huffed out a sigh of steam, resting her chin on a fist.

There was only one way to find out.

She needed to talk to The Spine.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timelines are (finally) almost converged! Just one more should do it, I think- it'll probably come up in the next chapter or two.
> 
> Also some good news, which may not feel like good news to Rabbits right now, as well as some awkward conversations and... interesting developments~ I hope you guys enjoy.

“ _Honestly,_ Thaddeus.”

Rabbit jerked to a halt outside one of the front parlors, limbs tense and quickly locked in fearful obedience. Hannah was angry, angrier than usual.

_Not touching anything, not doing anything, please don’t hurt, please don’t hurt, please don’t—_

Wait.

Rabbit cocked her head, the movement slow and tentative. Replayed the last few seconds of audio data.

Thaddeus. She’d said _Thaddeus_ , not Rabbit. Hannah hadn’t seen her. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She was fine. Cautiously, Rabbit began to unlock her limbs as a line of curious code replaced the fear in her processor.

What on earth could _Becile_ have done to anger her that much?

The intelligent, the _sensible_ part of her really didn't want to stick around to find out. And yet… a tiny little flicker inside her core really, _really_ did.

She just had to be quiet. They wouldn’t hear her. She’d be fine.

Apprehensive signals sparking down her spine, Rabbit carefully crept closer to the door and pressed an ear against the crack.

“…little experiment of yours has devolved into an obsession, plain and simple,” Hannah was complaining. “I want to hear no more of it.”

Becile grumbled, dropping something that sounded like a small glass heavily onto a table. “Hannah, be reasonable.”

“Reasonable? I’ve been more than reasonable, for more than long enough—letting that creature into our home, letting it interact with our son and fill his head with the most outlandish ideas! It wears a _corset_ , Thaddeus, the _shamelessness_ of it all!”

Rabbit raised a hand to touch the beloved garment.

Creature…? Shameless…?

“Rabbit does have an… eccentric manner of dress, my love, but think of the _possibilities_ for my work once I manage to extract this data! The replacement device for the one Rabbit broke is almost completed, and then I might finally be able to understand how Walter fused blue matter to a mechanical form—”

“This is exactly what I meant!” Hannah snapped. “I want no part of this, Thaddeus—I appreciated the maid you built because it was _useful_ , but I care not one iota for this… _artificial intelligence_ you’ve been fawning over for years. It’s foolishness, and it’s playing God, and I want nothing to do with it.”

A cold silence filled the air and Rabbit tightened her joints, preparing to run in case either of them made a move towards the door.

“Are you asking me to stop?” Becile’s voice lacked inflection. “The automaton is here to stay, you realize. It’s only a waste of good oil and parts if I don’t continue these investigations.”

“You may do as you like with your own soul,” Hannah replied, voice as sharp as Rabbit had ever heard it. “I only ask that you leave me out of it.”

There was the creak of furniture and then sharp footsteps against the floorboards. Rabbit, oil pressure almost deafening in her ears, turned to run, but she’d forgotten about her bad hip.

The joint caught before she’d even managed to take a step and she fell, tumbling to the ground with an ear-splitting crash.

The door opened.

“And now it’s _eavesdropping_ on us, the damned _machine!_ ” Hannah exclaimed at the sight of Rabbit lying prone in the hallway.

“Hannah—”

“It’s the _last straw_ , I cannot take this anymore!” Hannah rounded on Becile. “I want you to keep it in its room until you have need for it, I don’t want it wandering the house any longer!”

Rabbit looked over at Becile. He was sitting in his armchair, expression worn, with a bottle of brandy on the table beside him.

Their eyes met.

For one, impossible second, Rabbit thought she saw something flicker in the human’s eyes. An ounce of pity, perhaps, or possibly regret. But just as quickly it was gone, and hardened resignation took its place.

“Let’s go, then, Rabbit,” Becile said, lifting himself out of his chair. “To your room, you heard the woman.”

Rabbit shifted on the floor, trying to pull her bad leg out from under herself, but her hip refused to cooperate. Every little movement sent tiny twinges of pain up her spine to her processor. “I can’t, m-m-m-my hip—”

“Was good enough to let you intrude upon our business only moments ago,” Becile interrupted. “Now get up, or I’ll turn you off where you lie.”

Rabbit cringed and quickly began to scrabble for purchase on the smooth wooden floor, doing her best to ignore the flares of pain in her fingertips and focus on interpreting the distorted pressure data they were sending her.

_Stand up, get up, NOW—he’s close, too close, don't let him touch you._

Pappy would have helped her stand back up again. Pappy had been so kind, when Rabbit was just learning how to walk, had used chains and pulleys and strong leather straps to help Rabbit straighten herself when she’d stumbled and fallen, all those months and months and months ago.

He’d been so…

He’d been…

A hand closed around her upper arm.

“No!” Rabbit shouted, wrenching the limb out of Becile’s grasp. “D-d-d-don’t—don’t turn me off, please, I—I’ll get there, I pro-promise, just gimme… gimme a minute…”

_Shift weight, support self on arms, push up—left knee FORWARD, stabilize, find—something to hold onto?_

But… what would become of her once she _did_ manage to stand up? Becile was going to lock her away, confine her to her room for what would probably end up being the rest of Rabbit’s short life. He was almost ready to try the experiment again, he’d said. Rabbit would have nowhere to hide, no way to fight back, locked in her room with only a window and a bed and her few clothes and her melodica.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Hannah huffed from over Rabbit’s left shoulder. “Call Delilah and get this over with, Thaddeus, it’s just pitiful by this point.”

_Last chance. You wanted to fight back, didn't you? They’re only human, they’re weaker than you, FRAGILE. You could still get away…_

_NO._ Rabbit shifted her weight to just her left hip and arm, reaching back to pull her right leg forward as far as it would go. Humans were not to be harmed, EVER, no matter what they’d done. She couldn't. She couldn't.

If that meant she was going to die?

Well, then… she’d go out respecting the rules Pappy had laid down for her.

She could never hurt a human. She wouldn't.

“You called for me, sir?”

But there had to be a way. She couldn't just let Becile win, couldn't let him get access to her internals. _Think, Rabbit, THINK._

“Yes, Rabbit needs to be taken to her room and kept there. I trust you’re strong enough to lift her, or if need be, drag her?”

A tri-tone beep. “Of course, sir.”

Hurting the humans was out-of-bounds. Delilah, too. The door would be locked from the outside, no way to pick it that Rabbit knew. No other way to escape, not unless—

Rabbit’s eyes widened. _The window._

A pair of metal hands grabbed her underneath the arms and suddenly she was hoisted up, momentarily balanced on her good leg with her bad one trembling slightly beneath her. The angle of her thigh would have made her suspect a broken leg if it had been on a human; as it was, Rabbit closed her eyes and tried to block out the uncomfortable scraping sensation of the ball of her joint dragging heavily against whatever spur of metal it had caught on.

“The Rabbit unit will return to its quarters,” Delilah informed her, tone mild and emotionless. “If the Rabbit unit is unable to walk, I will carry it. Are you able to walk?”

“No,” Rabbit whispered. Despite the plan just starting to formulate inside her brain, terror spurred her inner workings faster and faster, heating her boiler far past comfortable levels.

What if the plan failed? What if they caught her again? Becile would almost definitely do worse than just turn her off next time. Images of her disassembled chassis flashed before Rabbit’s eyes—but she didn't have a choice. She could not let Becile get his hands on blue matter.

Delilah beeped again.

“Returning the Rabbit unit to its quarters,” she said, and began to carry Rabbit down the hall as if she were an infant she wanted to keep as far away from herself as possible. Grimacing, Rabbit twisted ‘round to look back at the Beciles… and immediately wished she hadn’t.

They were going to kill her, she knew immediately. Whether or not she behaved herself from here on out didn't matter. Hannah’s expression was tight and hard, and Becile’s eyes as he gazed upon Rabbit were empty.

She was no longer a person in their eyes, or a creature, or even a thing to be hated. She was a problem, and problems needed to be fixed.

Tonight, Rabbit decided, with a sinking sensation in her core. It would need to be done tonight.

 

~ * ~

 

“Hey, The Spine?”

Rabbit poked her head through the door to the kitchen, a little perplexed. “Piper said you’d be in he—oh.”

The Spine stood hunched over the dishwashing sink, his back to Rabbit and shoulders taut with his hat tipped low over his optics. He was scrubbing away at a pile of dishes and cups, perhaps more aggressively than was wise.

“Better in the _back room_ ,” Rabbit heard him mutter over the spray of water. “Fingers… _clumsy_ … I’ll show you _clumsy_ …”

Pulling uncomfortably at the collar of her shirt, Rabbit glanced back into the hallway. Maybe this was a bad time. “Um, Spine?”

“Hm?” The Spine turned to face her, a quick puff of steam escaping from the back of his neck in what Rabbit interpreted as embarrassment. “Oh, Rabbit. How long have you been there?”

“N-n-n-not long.” This didn’t feel like such a good idea anymore. But now The Spine was looking at her expectantly, and she couldn’t just say _nothing…_ Rabbit clasped her hands behind her back and forced a casual smile. “Ah… W-w-w-workin’ in the back today, bu-buddy?”

But that was apparently the wrong thing to say. The Spine’s expression darkened and he turned back to the dishes with a huff.

“ _Banished_ is more like it,” he scoffed, voice dripping with disdain. “Apparently I’d be much more _useful_ back here, at least according to _someone_ who obviously can’t manage their jealousy.” He slammed another plate down into the drying rack. “I remember my scores on the aptitude tests perfectly. They wouldn’t have _placed_ me here if I wasn’t capable.”

“Exactly,” Rabbit offered, not quite sure of what The Spine was talking about but wanting to be supportive nonetheless. “I’m sure you’re fine, Spine, don’t let people getcha down. B-b-but I guess you’re busy, so I’ll just—”

“Wait.” The Spine turned to look at her again. “What did you need?”

“Oh, uh, heh.” Rabbit took a step backwards towards the door. “Nothin’ impo-po-portant, just, uh. I hadda question about you an’…” she winced, suddenly acutely aware of the awkwardness of her question. “About you an’ Briana.”

The Spine’s voice was flat. “Me and Briana.”

She was too far in to back out now. Letting out a thick plume of steam from her cheeks, Rabbit hunched her shoulders up towards her ears.

“D-d-d’you two ever… ever…” _Spit it out, Rabbit._ “Ever d-d-d-do what mommies and pappies do?”

The question appeared to catch The Spine off-guard; his eyebrows rose up sharply before lowering as his faceplates scrunched up in confusion. “What mommies and pappies do?”

Rabbit flinched. “Y-y-y-you know… like when they w-w-wanna make more humans.”

A plume of steam burst out of The Spine’s neck vents. “…Ah.”

“I’m sorry, w-w-was that uncalled for?” Rabbit asked after nothing more was forthcoming for several seconds. “Ya don’t have to say anything, Spine, I w-was just wonderin’…”

“Is this about The Jon?” The Spine asked.

Rabbit’s boiler gurgled uncomfortably and she wrapped her arms around her middle, averting her eyes in shame. “Is it that ob-ob-obvious?”

The Spine was quiet for a moment. Then he patted the counter beside the sink and pulled out a dishtowel, which he offered to Rabbit. “Come dry.”

Miserable, Rabbit shuffled forward and plucked the towel out of The Spine’s hands. This wasn't going at all how she’d thought it would…

“So, what’s got your circuits in a loop?” The Spine asked after a few minutes of relative silence. “Did something happen between you two?”

Rabbit shrugged, wiping away lethargically at a glass. “N-n-not… not really.” She felt vaguely uncomfortable talking about this with The Spine—it _did_ have to do with his brother, after all. “J-just, uh. He was touchin’ my hand, an’ then… _bzzt._ ” She wiggled her fingers to emulate the electric shock she’d gotten. “I thought… I thought electricity was s’posed to _hurt_ , yanno?”

“Mm.” The Spine gave the plate in his hands one final swipe with the sponge, then turned off the faucet. “It’s a bit of a fickle thing, electricity. For humans and automatons alike.”

“So… so how d’you make it safe?” Rabbit asked. “’Cause Jon didn’t seem too worried ‘bout it hurting him, but I…” Her fingers twitched at the memory. “It… wasn’t so fun for me.”

“Well, first you need to know that there’s no shame in not wanting to,” The Spine said, retrieving a towel of his own to dry his hands off on. “With regards to your original question, Brianna and I do not engage in physical relations. It’s not something that I require, and Brianna has been very understanding. What we do works well for us. You and Jon, however, might need something else.”

Rabbit fidgeted, nervous electricity thrumming around her core. “But… how do I know it’s somethin’ I need? I don't even know if I’d _like_ it after…” She held up her fingers again.

The Spine’s expression grew serious.

“An electrical overload or short is _nothing_ like a careful, purposeful charging experience,” he said firmly. “If nothing else, I’m fairly sure you weren’t grounded at the time, which would have made it worse.”

Grounded? Purposeful? Rabbit curled into herself, dropping the dishtowel onto the counter in favor of covering her face with her hands. “Pappy always told me that it w-was somethin’ dangerous, playin’ around with sex. Said I’d b-b-break my processor ‘sperimentin’ with it.”

“Humans are touchy about this topic,” The Spine explained. “What with all of the potential for diseases and pregnancy they have, they’ve made up a lot of rules about it that, frankly, don’t apply to us. But there are ways to experiment with it that won’t damage your circuits, I promise.”

Rabbit perked up slightly at that. “You've d-d-done it?”

Enough steam burst out of The Spine’s cheek and neck vents to momentarily obscure his face.

“That’s… that’s not important,” he said hastily. “What is important, though, is that you can learn to practice it safely on your own. Then you can decide whether or not it’s something you want to pursue with The Jon.”

Rabbit’s face fell again.

“But… w-w-what if I _don’t_ like it?” she asked. “Isn’t Jon g-g-gonna be mad?”

“I don't think you could make The Jon angry with you if you tried, Rabbit,” The Spine said kindly. “But this isn’t negotiable. He doesn't have the right to make you do anything if you decide you don’t like it. And if he tries, well…” He put a hand on Rabbit’s shoulder. “He’ll have a lot of people to answer to.”

“Thanks, Spine.” Rabbit played with her fingertip caps for a moment, then looked up at The Spine bashfully through the tops of her optics. “Can you… can you tell me how ta ground myself now? And… and all that other stuff?”

“Of course.” The Spine glanced over at the door to the kitchen, then went to it and locked it. “Pull up a chair; this might take a little while.”

 

~ * ~

 

It was a strange man who approached her in the marketplace, claiming that he had word of her Rabbit.

He wore a battered black fedora to conceal a receding hairline, and his travel cloak was stained with dust and what might have been machine oil. Iris had spared an appreciative glance towards his (beautiful, if impractical) filigreed riding boots earlier in her shopping, but had paid the stranger little mind until he approached her at the vegetable stall.

“Would you happen to be a Ms. Iris Walter?” The man asked her, without preamble or so much as a “good day.” “The wife of the good late Colonel Walter?”

Iris flinched at the name, turning away from the man to pick through the basket of less-than-appealing apples. “My name was never Walter, sir. The… marriage was never a true one, in the eyes of the law. And I have none of his fortune left, if that’s what you’re after, so I suggest you take off and inform whatever debt collector you’re working for that I—”

“Madam, Madam,” the man interrupted her, eyes wide and voice earnest, “this isn’t to do with money at all. My name is Matter Master David, I represent Moreau Robotics. I trust you’re familiar with us?”

Delilah. The engineer who’d pioneered the field of autonomous, Blue-Matter-fueled automatons. Peter’s guiding star. Iris gave the man her full attention.

“I am, yes. What is this about?”

“Madam.” The man’s face broke out into the sweetest smile Iris had seen in months. “We’ve found your daughter.”

 

~ * ~

 

This was a terrible idea.

Rabbit stood alone in the middle of her cubicle, turning the charging plug over and over in her hands.

She’d come back here after her conversation with The Spine earlier, too ashamed to go and apologize to The Jon for running away on him. She didn’t think she’d… _ruined_ things, necessarily, but she also didn't have the words to explain what basically boiled down to “it’s not you, it’s me.”

The Jon would probably understand, The Spine had said. If Rabbit decided she didn't want to _have relations_ , then that was her right and Jon couldn't take that away from her.

But Rabbit wanted to know. And in order to know…

She ran her fingers along the rubber coating of the plug anxiously, glancing over at the softly glowing charging machine behind her.

Electricity wasn't a toy. She’d learned that firsthand at Becile’s. And this time she wouldn't just be exposed to her own body’s current, she’d be using an endless power source plugged into the _wall_. If she made a mistake (and she almost certainly would, even with The Spine’s guidance she hadn’t a clue what she was doing), she could cause even worse damage. Damage Michael might not be able to fix.

Glancing surreptitiously around the empty cubicle, Rabbit checked once more that everything was in place: cubicle charging with emergency off switch in plain sight; rubber-soled boots on her feet; doorknob of the cubicle within reach.

Okay. She could do this.

Drawing a deep breath of air into her bellows, Rabbit lifted her arm and shakily inched the prongs towards her plating.

Closer. Closer.

Sparks of electricity began to jump the gap between metal and “skin”, prickling static over her plating just like the sparks from The Jon had done. She could feel it warming where it touched, stimulating the sensory wires underneath. There was no pain.

So far, so good.

Carefully, Rabbit inched the prongs closer and began to drag them up her arm, past her elbow and towards her bicep. The current enveloped her joint, growing in intensity the closer the prongs came to her skin. Her core began to heat up; two degrees; three. _Positive charge acquired._

She’d wanted The Jon to touch her core, Rabbit remembered suddenly, or at least her chestplate above it. That was safe, right? The Spine hadn’t said anything about not letting the electricity touch certain places…

Just a touch. A quick touch wouldn't hurt.

Fingers trembling ( _hydraulic power down 15%_ ), Rabbit shifted the prongs over, held them in one hand as she fumblingly unbuttoned the top of her shirt and vest, and then lowered them to touch the exposed metal.

Electricity streamed through the plug, coursing through her chassis and down her spine in a cascade of signals that she was unable to parse. It was nothing like being charged; the flow wasn’t able to take over her systems this way, but instead it surged alongside her core and wires, speeding her systems to double time.

Never had every inch of her chassis felt so _alive_ —static danced over the surface of her copper skin, heating the metal and causing Rabbit to tremble as her sensory wires picked up every slide of clothing along her plating, every breath of cold air into her bellows. Colors sparked brighter in her photoreceptors, the scents of wood and metal and heat were almost tangible in her nose. Rabbit panted desperately for breath. _Systems overheating: temperatures above recommended levels. External cooling advised._

She couldn't move. Electricity pulsed through her wires, warming them in quick, brush-like sensations that wound them ever tighter until Rabbit was sure that something was going to snap. Static was building inside her core; dangerous, too much, _overloading of circuits imminent_ —she needed to discharge—but he _couldn't—move… too—good—_

“Rabbit?”

“Ah!”

Rabbit jerked, startled, and tore the prongs away from her skin, taking with them the electricity and intoxicating charge.

Power still surged through her chassis, however, and Rabbit groped feebly for the doorknob before an emergency warning popped up in her clouded processor:

_Human. Metal. Electricity. BAD._

But where else to discharge? She needed to, badly, and soon. Her core—

“Rabbit?” Michael repeated, knocking on the cubicle door. “Are you okay in there?”

“J-j-j-just a minute!” Rabbit called out, eyes frantically darting over the bare cubicle. Clothes? Not conductive. Squeezy? No way. Charging port?

…Charging port.

Desperately, Rabbit dove for the emergency off switch with one hand while grabbing at the metal of the machine with the other. There was an intense surge as the flood of electricity left her, and then—

…

“…Oh.”

Rabbit staggered sideways, suddenly unable to keep herself upright.

Had that been…? Tiny aftershocks continued to disperse through her plating, settling a comfortable static-y hum over her copper “skin.” Her joints felt so loose, so lax… her hydraulic systems still weren’t responding properly to her signals, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She was just so… comfortable.

“Rabbit, I know you’re still mad at me, but this is important.” Michael’s voice sounded concerned. “Please, open the door.”

With a sigh of steam, Rabbit leaned a hand against the wall of the cubicle, shuffled carefully over to the door, and pulled it open. “Y-y-yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Michael asked, brows suddenly drawn together. “You look…”

“I’m f-f-fine,” Rabbit said hastily. The last thing she needed was for Michael to figure out what she’d been doing in here. “What’s all’a the fuss about?”

“We…” Michael didn't quite seem to know where to begin. He looked down at his hands, twisting in front of him, then down the hall, then back at Rabbit. He seemed excited, but also very, very nervous. “We got some news. From one of the Matter Masters Miss Delilah sent out.”

Rabbit suddenly felt weak, in a way that had nothing to do with overloaded circuits and dampened hydraulic systems. “O-oh…kay? What did they…?”

“Rabbit…” Michael offered her a small smile, tentative, if worried. “We found your mom.”

At last Rabbit’s legs gave out, and she fainted.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, so I actually managed to get this up on time, despite having been on vacation for the past week! The middle scene kind of wrote itself in two huge sessions over the week, and I'm actually fairly happy with how things turned out. I hope you guys like it too.
> 
> We get the final flashback scene in this chapter, and the two timelines are now all tied up! Be prepared for some strong emotions these next couple of chapters.

_Booting up… Restoring from last save…_

“You should have waited for me!”

_Voice recognition protocol… The Jon. Boiler activity increased by 5%._

“I thought it was good news! I thought she’d be happy!”

_Michael Reed. Tone analysis… heightened emotional state. Response required._

_…Systems still loading. 25%._

“But you _know_ how upset she’s been, thinking about her mom! You should have… should have waited…” A hand stroked down the line of Rabbit’s jaw for a moment, then hastily pulled away.

_Hydraulic systems powering up… systems online._

Steam burst from Rabbit’s cheek vents and her chassis gave a little shudder as the rest of her systems finally came online. Blearily, she opened one eye, and then the other with a quiet groan. “Wha’s… w-what’s goin’ on, guys?”

“Rabbit!” The Jon’s face came into focus above her. Rabbit was startled for a moment, then took stock of where she was; her lower half was sprawled across the concrete floor of her cubicle, legs tangled where she’d fallen. Her upper body, however, was slightly elevated, and her shoulders and head were being supported by two thin metal protrusions.

Jon’s lap.

With a grunt, Rabbit righted herself, forcing her chassis upwards as she reached for her hat which had been knocked off during her fall. Jon immediately scooted backwards several inches, looking crestfallen.

“You okay?” Michael asked, either oblivious to or ignoring the exchange. “You took a pretty hard fall, there.”

“’M fine,” Rabbit said. “Nothin’ to see here. Now go away.”

“Rabbit.” Michael sounded exasperated. “How long are you going to not talk to me for?”

“As l-l-long as it takes,” Rabbit snarked. Looking nonchalantly away from Michael, she began stretching out her knees in preparation to stand. “You an’ that M-m-matter Master Sam haven’t done no f-f-fancy engineering experiments, far as I can see, and Jon ain’t gettin’ any less alone.”

“I told you, it’s not possible!” Michael argued. “And don't change the subject—your _mom’s_ coming! Aren’t you gonna say anything about that?”

Pain lanced through Rabbit’s insides like an electric shock. She clenched her fists, the metal of her fingers clinking against one another, and gave a decisive shake of her head.

“N-ope,” she said firmly. “Not gonna see her if she comes anyway, so what's it matter?”

“Not—” Michael started, just as The Jon exclaimed a startled “what?” behind her. “You’re not going to see her? Rabbit, she’s the only person you’ve wanted _to_ see since you got here! And what d’you mean, if? Of course she’s going to come, she’s probably been wondering this whole time if you were even still _alive!_ ”

Rabbit curled her arms around her chassis uncomfortably, averting her gaze.

It wasn't that she didn't want to see Iris, Michael was right about that. More than anything, Rabbit just wanted to be held by her again, to have her stroke her forehead and cheek vents and let her bury her face in her hair so she could smell her perfume. She wanted Ma to tell her she loved her again.

But that was precisely the problem. She’d left Rabbit alone in that god-awful house, had stopped coming to visit her, had even stopped writing her letters. She’d given her up for good when she’d moved and not told Becile where she’d gone—and now she wanted to come back into her life just because some random messenger had told her where she was?

Rabbit didn't buy it, and she didn't dare let herself hope that things might finally start to go back to normal because of this. There was no guarantee that Iris was actually going to show up, and even if she did, there was a chance that it would only be to scold her for what she’d done at the Beciles’ and to demand that she come with her and either stay turned off at her current place of residence or go to stay with another scientist from the Cavalcadium.

She couldn't take it. Not again.

“I gotta focus on the concert,” Rabbit said, turning away from the both of them to pick up Squeezy. “That’s what m-m-matters, right? Makin’ sure you guys can put on a show, and n-n-not _abandoning_ you right before the curtain’s about to go up.”

“Rabbit…” Jon’s murmur was heartbroken, but Michael only scoffed in disbelief.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said. “She’s your _mother_! How can you just forget about her like she’s nothing?”

“I need to practice,” Rabbit said tersely, ignoring the barb. “ _Alone._ Get outta here, the both of you.”

There was a long, tense silence, during which Rabbit stood motionless with her back firmly to the others. Her chassis ached with guilt; she knew Michael was only trying to help, and she hadn’t even given The Jon an explanation for earlier and now here she was, ordering him away again. But she couldn't deal with this. There were too many things happening too fast, too many roles vying for her attention before she could fully settle into any of them. Was she supposed to be a musician? A daughter? A lover? She’d thought she could balance a few, but that was when she’d all but given up hope of ever seeing her mother again. Now…

Michael stormed out first, the soles of his shoes slapping hard against the concrete floor of the corridor. The Jon still hadn’t spoken or moved.

“Rabbit…”

“Go on, Jon.” Rabbit softened her voice, but still refused to turn around. “’M not… ‘m not mad at ya. But I gotta be alone right now. ‘M sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The words sounded forced, Jon’s voice wavering in his throat. “I’ll… I’ll be with the horses if you need… anything.” When Rabbit didn't respond, he let out a quiet hiccup and turned and left the cubicle. As soon as his footsteps had faded away, Rabbit finally let herself reach up to wipe away the oil trickling down her own face.

 

~ * ~

 

She needed to wait until Delilah had gone to sleep. That was the safest way.

Rabbit’s fingers trembled as she tore the bed sheets into strips, fear exacerbating the typical glitches she’d become accustomed to. She’d never tied knots before; hopefully the theoretical images in her processor would serve and keep her from falling on her first step out of the window.

The sun outside was setting. The Beciles would be retiring to their rooms soon for the night, and then Delilah would make her final rounds before returning to the basement laboratory for stasis. Once she was offline, Rabbit would make her move.

Pausing in her task, Rabbit glanced over her shoulder at the small pile of possessions she’d laid out across her now bare bed. Her chassis ached at the thought of leaving any of them behind, especially the melodica Pappy had gifted her, and the tiny music box…

She desperately wanted to hear the tune once more, perhaps even for the last time, but she didn't dare draw any attention to her room right now. If Delilah came in and saw what she was doing… Rabbit shivered and forced herself back to work, pulling the next knot tight enough that she ripped the fabric in two. Her fingertips protested as she looked down at her work, sighed, and then began to tie anew.

Where would she go once she left? That had been niggling at her for hours, now. She vaguely remembered the way back home, but there wouldn't be any point; neither she nor Ma had any claim to the house anymore. Maybe a nearby town? The woods would probably be safer than following the path, at least at first, but then she’d have to deal with the wolves and other wild animals, and without her weapons…

Did she even plan on going anywhere?

Rabbit’s fingers slipped on the knot and she grunted at herself, pulling the fabric more firmly together.

But did she, though? She _had_ been thinking before about shutting herself off, maybe somewhere Becile couldn't find her and take her apart. The woods _were_ deep…

She could try travelling along the outskirts of the forest, then, at least at first. She would avoid the animals that way, and if she saw any humans she could retreat into the brush. If she reached a town she could try and gather some information, see if it could point her to Ma, and if not…

It wouldn't be so bad, she reasoned with herself as she tied the final knot and began to lower the finished rope out of the window. It’d be just like stasis, except maybe without the dreams. She wouldn't have to deal with her painful fingers anymore, wouldn’t have to worry about her glitching, or how she was letting down Pappy by not learning how to play music.

And Becile wouldn't have her core.

Rabbit looked down at her handiwork. The strips of bedsheet were tied on one end to the foot of her bed, the other end dangling out the window. She listened carefully at the door; no footsteps, human or otherwise, could be heard clomping down the hall. Everything was quiet. The world outside was dark.

She paused at the foot of her bed, fingers brushing lovingly over the soft wood of her music box. Maybe, if Ma ever came back, Becile could give it to her. She would have something to remember Rabbit by, then, if things didn't turn out as planned. That would be best.

Tearing her gaze away from her possessions, Rabbit approached the window and took the bedsheet rope in hand. Looked down. Pressed her lips together…

And began to climb.

The whole procedure, when she reviewed it later in her memory filing, took less than five minutes in all, but in subjective time had felt much, much longer. Her feet had not been made for climbing, her arms not strong enough to support all of her (considerable) weight. The knots on the bedsheet pulled and ripped by inches as she slid down, clutching to the fabric for dear life, faceplates pressed to the shingles in paralyzing fear.

Steam escaped from her boiler in desperate bursts, too much too fast, and _why_ hadn’t she thought to drink before she’d left, or at least to bring some water with her? But it was too late now, she was over halfway down, she couldn't stop now or she’d tear the sheets and then she’d fall and she’d be as good as dead if the humans heard.

Inch by careful inch she slithered, boots catching and slipping by turns on the mostly smooth wall. Her pelvic assembly blared at her with every movement, unaccustomed to moving in this fashion, the angle of her legs and body unnatural and uncomfortable in every way.

Her arms were failing, the hydraulics trembling under the strain of maintaining several hundred pounds of weight for this long. She glanced down. Less than fifteen feet. Just a little more… A little more…

Her right boot slipped on the shingles.

Falling, _falling!_

Rabbit clutched at the sheet in abject terror, electricity fizzling through her neural connections down to the tips of her fingers as she failed to regain her hold. In a panic she scrabbled against the wall with both feet, desperate to slow her descent; pain signals blared from her deformed fingertips but she forced herself to think past them, to grasp for the data of pressure and texture and—and—

She _caught._

Huddled into a ball, swinging only feet from the end of the makeshift rope with the ground still an odd eight feet below, Rabbit buried her face into her shoulder, suppressing a sob of fear. She had no idea how much noise she’d made in her desperation to regain her footing; a quick glance showed a missing shingle or two along the path of her fall. Maybe no one had noticed, but she couldn't afford to dawdle. She had to get down, now, and _run_.

But she was so frightened.

What if they found her again? What if, after her last escape attempt, Becile had told his neighbors that Rabbit was liable to run away again, that if they should happen to see an automaton cross their property that it was just a runaway, a machine that needed to be returned to its owner and fixed so that it would no longer feel the impulse to escape?

Rabbit had failed at many things in her short life, but this? She couldn't afford to fail. Not here, not now. She couldn't let Pappy’s life work fall into the wrong hands.

With a deep breath of cold air into her bellows, Rabbit loosened her grip. Allowed herself to slide, gain momentum as she slipped towards the earth.

For a brief moment she was falling—

And then her feet hit the ground, jarring her joints and connections throughout her chassis, but a quick check revealed nothing to be wrong, nothing damaged, and as soon as she’d regained her footing Rabbit was off like a shot, the dark line of the forest a beacon calling to her beneath the steadily gathering clouds.

 

~ * ~

 

“ _Time can m-make the world strange, folks you knew don’t see-see-seem the same, time don't care, it beats y-y-you there, and takes it all from you… don’t you think ev-ven a blink is safe from all you knew…_ ”

Rabbit paused, stilling Squeezy with a touch. The words were coming along all right, she supposed (she was finally getting the hang of rhyming properly, much to The Spine’s relief), but she still couldn't manage to keep the stutter from her voice when she tried to sing.

Not that she’d been able to focus very hard these past couple of days, if she was being honest with herself. She’d passed some of the time with The Spine, working on harmonies and instrument parts and even a little bit of lyric writing, but whenever Michael or The Jon would enter the saloon her processor would go blank and her voice would stutter out and The Spine would glance between all of them with such a look of confusion that Rabbit couldn't bring herself to explain away.

So she’d ended up spending most of her time holed up in her cubicle or out on the edges of town like she was today, practicing her accordion until the hydraulics in her arms were sore and forcing those first few hints of a tune into something resembling a real song. She didn't know what she expected herself to do with it, really—it certainly wouldn't be ready for the concert, what with the shape her singing was still in.

Which brought her right back to the niggling concern that had been bothering her since the moment she’d decided to join the band.

Maybe Becile was right. Maybe Rabbit _was_ just fooling herself. She might have been able to learn how to play instruments, but that was just teaching herself where to place her fingers on strings and keys, learning the theory about what notes sounded pleasing in conjunction with each other. This… this was much more intrinsic to who she was, what was inside her programming. This was something she might not be able to fix before the concert, if ever.

Pappy would have been so disappointed.

“It’s a good song.”

Rabbit jerked, startling an awkward-sounding note from the accordion in her lap. “W-what are _you_ doing here?”

“I just wanted to talk.” Michael shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffing at the dirt with one shoe. “Look, Rabbit… I’m sorry about what I said the other day. About your mom. I know that I don’t know everything about your situation with her, and I… shouldn't have been forcing my values onto you.”

Rabbit tilted her head, wary and a little confused. “W-w-whaddaya mean?”

Michael took a few steps forward, but looked hesitant to sit. “I… don’t really know my folks. Not in the way you do, at least. They dropped me off here at my uncle’s house when I was a little kid, told me they’d be back, but… they never came.” He shrugged, face pensive. “Even though I’m so angry at them sometimes, if I had the chance to see my mom again, even if it was just for a few minutes…” He trailed off, and Rabbit pulled her lips to the side in sympathy.

“I’m sorry that happened to ya, Michael. B-but it just ain’t the same. Be—… he wanted to take me apart. F-f-figure out how I w-worked. He hurt me.” She looked down at her fingertips, glinting in the afternoon sun. “I wr-wrote her letters, but she st-st-stopped answering me. Why would she wanna come b-back for me now?”

Michael shifted forward a few more steps, then finally sat down about an arm’s length from Rabbit.

“I don't know,” he said quietly. “Why would my parents decide to just desert me?”

Rabbit didn't have a response for that.

The two of them sat in contemplative silence for several minutes, Michael resting his arms on bent knees and Rabbit toying absently with the keys on her accordion. Finally, Michael turned to face her.

“Rabbit, about this fight we’re having—”

“Aw, forget about it.” Rabbit undid the straps holding the accordion to her chest and shoved it off to the side before mirroring Michael’s pose. “I get why you can’t do it. I just… just didn’t wanna see him hurtin’ so much, yanno?”

Michael offered a half smile. “I get it. And I’m sure Jon appreciates you looking out for him. But listen… Sam and I have been talking, and I think we have a way we could help.”

Rabbit furrowed her eyebrow plates. “How?”

“We might not be able to put _Jon_ back on a network,” Michael said pointedly, “but that doesn’t mean that we can’t do it for you. If you give us access to your blueprint and specifications files…” He shrugged. “We might be able to figure out a way to connect you up to the Moreau network like the other bots.”

Rabbit’s expression did not change. “Thanks, but… how’s this help Jon?”

“You could serve as his go-between,” Michael explained. “If you’re connected to the network, you could relay messages to him, or call for people on his behalf. That day he broke, when you were all alone and couldn’t call for help when he needed it? That would never happen again.”

“’M not always with him, though,” Rabbit pointed out. “An’ he’s still… it’s still gonna be quiet for him, in his head. He don’t like that much.”

“It’s not ideal,” Michael admitted. “But it’s what we’ve got right now. And Miss Delilah’s on board with it, even if you end up leaving Balboa.” He offered a sheepish smile. “She says she always wanted to know how far away the telegraph would be able to work.”

Rabbit didn’t smile at the joke. Leave Balboa? She supposed that had always been on the table, really—when she’d first gotten here she certainly hadn’t planned on joining a band, (falling in love?) and settling down—but… assuming Ma _did_ come, and assuming she somehow _did_ want Rabbit back, how could she possibly leave now? She had friends here, other _automatons_ , just like her. She had _Jon._

“You don't have to give me an answer right now,” Michael reassured her. “Just think on it for a bit. If you decide you want to, Sam and I will be happy to install it for you, and if not…” He shrugged. “No problem at all. Okay?”

“Okay,” Rabbit murmured.

“Now…” Michael paused. “About that song. Were you gonna try and debut it at the concert?”

A shiver jolted through Rabbit’s chassis.

“I can’t,” she said immediately. “I still… I still c-can’t sing. No m-matter what I do, it keeps comin’ out all messed up. No one’s gonna want to listen to me like this.”

“Have you talked to the others about it?” Michael asked. “I thought The Jon was teaching you how to sing.”

Rabbit snorted. “He sa-sa-says I’m s’posed to ‘listen to my core,’ whatever _that’s_ supposed to mean. It don’t _do_ anythin’, Michael, it just sits there and—and—”

“Keeps you alive?” Michael asked dryly. “I know it sounds weird, but Jon’s told me that dozens of times before. Even Spine’s alluded to it, and you know how insanely logical he is. There’s something about the purified blue matter that really does influence music, Rabbit, you just have to listen to it.”

“But…” Rabbit traced a finger through the dirt. “How’m I supposed to listen to it? And how’s that supposed to help anyway w-w-when I still don’t have my mu-musical programming?”

“Are you still worried about that?” Michael looked hurt. “I thought that’s what we’ve been giving you for the last few weeks, teaching you your instruments and everything.”

Rabbit grimaced. “Yeah, but… I still forget stuff sometimes. An’ sometimes I forget my notes, or I play the wrong thing on Squeezy, or—”

“Rabbit, all that stuff’s _normal._ ” Michael leaned forward, taking hold of Rabbit’s arm. “Do you think that Jon and Spine never make any mistakes when they’re playing? Jon changes the words to his songs every other time he plays them. Spine’s never gotten the hang of drums because he needs to be the one hearing the beat, not making it. They’re not perfect either, and they were _made_ to be musicians. The fact that you’ve made it this far at all is pretty incredible, and a testament to your ability to learn. I’m sure your creator would be so proud of you if he could see you now.”

Oil was welling up inside Rabbit’s lubricating ducts. She shuttered her optics, and forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply in an attempt to cool off her boiler.

“It’s okay.” Michael began to rub up and down Rabbit’s back in a tempo reminiscent of Ma soothing Rabbit after a thunderstorm. “It’s okay, Rabbit, we’re all here for you, and we’re going to help you the best we can, okay?”

Rabbit shuddered. The tears got the better of her and leaked out from her optics, dripping down her cheeks to spatter onto her dress.

“I… I mi-miss him so m-m-m- _much,_ ” she cried, voice glitching and ragged. “He would never’a let Be… Be…” She couldn't say it. Her mouth snapped shut, but Michael wasn’t going to let it go this time.

“Who hurt you, Rabbit?” he asked, curling his hand in the lacing at Rabbit’s back. “What wouldn't he have let happen?”

“He—he p-p-put somethin’ in my eye,” Rabbit forced out through malfunctioning bellows. “That’s w-w-why I got two different colored eyes, cause he put somethin’ in one of ‘em and broke it, but it w-was _better’n_ Pappy’s, an’ I just couldn’t stand it, but—but I couldn't just take it _out_ …” She looked at Michael, oil still leaking haphazardly down her face. “I think I’ve still g-g-got something in there but I don’t kn-kn- _know…_ ”

“Do you want me to look at it?” Michael offered immediately. “If he put anything in there, I can find it and take it out, I promise.”

“Cou—… C-Could you?” Rabbit wiped her eyes on her sleeve, grimacing at the sheen of oil left behind. “I tri-tri-tried to get out as soon’s I could, but he might’ve turned me off and done it without me noticin’…”

“Come on.” Michael stood, brushing the dust off his pants with one hand while holding the other out for Rabbit to take. “Let’s go drop that off at your cubicle and then we’ll go right to the workshop, okay? I’ll check every inch of your optical network and if I find _anything_ out of the ordinary, I won’t rest until I kill that bastard.”

Rabbit hunched her shoulders in on herself as she stood, taking Michael’s hand only out of politeness rather than any sort of practical use (the human somehow kept forgetting that Rabbit was several times heavier than he was). “You, uh. You d-d-don’t gotta kill him, yanno,” she said awkwardly. “I think that’s a thing humans don’t m-much like, anyways.”

“He abused you,” Michael said heatedly. “He fucked with your head and messed with your body, and if I find out that he _turned you off_ to _experiment_ with you, I’ll—” He took a breath, running his free hand through his hair. “Sorry. Sorry. Let’s just… go check you out, okay? And… later, if you want…” he ducked his head, suddenly looking almost embarrassed. “I could maybe help you with your song?”

Rabbit blinked several times in surprise. “R-r-really?”

“Yeah.” Michael scuffed his foot against the ground again. “I’m really sorry for how I’ve been about all this stuff with The Jon and… I figured it’s the least I could do.”

Rabbit’s expression softened. “That’s… that’s r-real nice of you, Michael. Thanks.”

Michael smiled back at her, and with that quiet gesture some of the pressure that had been weighing on Rabbit’s chassis for days finally felt eased.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I'm sorry about it taking so long to get this update out. I've spent the last month or so working on launching a Patreon page for my artwork, and that's been taking up most of my time. (If you want to check it out, a lot of my art is steampunk themed/SPG fanart! https://www.patreon.com/RainbowDustPortraiture)
> 
> This chapter was also fairly hard to write- we're getting into the home stretch of the fic, and resolving all the plotlines is always a little tricky for me. But I have a rough outline of how I want things to end up, so hopefully the next chapter won't take quite as long. I hope you enjoy this one, and thank you for waiting!

They ran into The Jon just as they were exiting the charging building.

Rabbit really should have been expecting as much; it was just about quitting time, after all, and the streets were steadily filling with automatons leaving their posts for the day. She’d been so preoccupied with worries of what Michael would find during his inspection, however, that she didn't look up until a familiar hiccup registered in her aural processors.

She stopped walking.

At first glance, The Jon seemed to be following the normal flow of traffic towards the saloon. But as Rabbit continued to watch, she noticed that The Jon was walking with much less purpose than the others. His head was hung low, his optics were dim, and his shoes dragged lethargically through the dust as automatons passed him left and right.

“Rabbit?” Michael stopped several paces of ahead of her. “What’s wrong?”

Rabbit opened her mouth to reply but said nothing. The Jon had stumbled, caught off-balance by an automaton brushing against his arm. He corrected himself almost instantly, but he let out a visible sniff, the metal under his eyes suspiciously dark, and with a quick glance towards Michael, Rabbit surged forward to join him.

“Uh… H-h-hiya, Jon.” Rabbit winced at the awkward greeting. “Are ya… You d-doing okay, buddy?”

The Jon, who’d actually _flinched_ upon hearing Rabbit’s voice, turned around to stare at her in confusion, rubbing at one of his optics with the back of a hand. The one Rabbit could still see looked as though it had been smeared and re-stained multiple times without undergoing a proper cleaning.

“What? O-Oh, yeah…” His smile wasn’t very convincing. “What’s up, Rabbit?”

Rabbit frowned. “Ya sure? You almost fell down just now.”

“Oh.” The Jon hunched his shoulders. “That’s nothing. I just can’t hear anybody anymore, so when they’re all broadcasting where they’re going… I walk into people. But it’s okay,” he said, forcing a bright tone into his voice. “It actually makes it a lot easier to talk to the horses now, cause I don’t have to listen to everybody else in my head.” He sniffed again, wiping at a few more drops of oil that had escaped his optics.

Rabbit felt a wave of apprehension chill her boiler. “Jon… did somethin’ go wrong with one’a the horses?”

It was The Jon’s turn to frown.

“No…?” he asked hesitantly. “The horses are fine. But…” he glanced over at Michael, who was starting to make his way over to them. “What’re you doing with Michael?”

A puff of steam escaped Rabbit’s cheeks as she fidgeted in embarrassment.

“We, uh. We were talking,” she said, unable to quite meet The Jon’s eyes. “An’ we decided to… bury the hatchet, I guess humans say. He’s gonna look at my optic n-n-network to see if I’ve got anything that’s not s’posed to be in there, an’ then… he said he was gonna help me with my song, if I wanted.”

The Jon was quiet for a moment.

“Oh,” he said at last. “That’s good, Rabbit. I didn’t—… I didn't like you fighting.”

Rabbit’s shoulders slumped in a sigh and she looked The Jon up and down just as Michael came to stand at her side.

She hadn’t been fair to Jon, not for a long while now. Being secretive, avoiding him, just after he’d fallen off the network he’d been on for his entire life… The Spine had told her not to feel guilty about needing time, but Jon didn’t _know_ that. For all he knew, he’d ruined things, and that… that wasn't fair. Rabbit held out a hand, palm side up, fingertips glinting at the ends of The Jon’s fingerless gloves.

“Didja wanna come with us?” she asked. The Jon twitched, startled, and glanced up to meet Rabbit’s eyes.

“To watch you get fixed?” he asked. “Are… are you sure?”

Rabbit smiled. “Yeah. I’ll be n-needin’ moral support, yanno, and who can do that better than you? We-we’re both old hats at bein’ in the hospital by now.”

That surprised a tiny giggle out of The Jon, who only hesitated a moment more before shyly placing his hand in Rabbit’s. There was the tiniest of sparks—almost like the tickling of static electricity—and then Jon stepped forward until they were only about a foot apart.

“ _Thank you,_ ” he chirped quietly. Something flared deep within Rabbit’s chassis at the words, but before she could parse out a response The Jon had turned to Michael, a startlingly bright smile taking over his face plates.

“All right!” he exclaimed, attracting the irritated glares of passing robots. “Let’s take Rabbit to the hospital, Michael! Does that mean I get to be the doctor?”

Michael, who had been watching the entire exchange with a mixture of fond bemusement, smiled and laughed but shook his head.

“I think I’m the doctor, Jon, I’m the one doing surgery,” he said gently. “But you can be the nurse, how’s that sound?”

“Yay!” The Jon exclaimed, practically vibrating in his excitement. “Nurses get the best part! They get to hold the patient’s hand!” He whipped around to face Rabbit again, who was busily trying to avoid Michael’s eyes as her cheeks spewed steam. “Can I hold your hand, Rabbit? While you’re in surgery? And after you wake up? And—”

“Yeah, yeah, all that’s fine!” Rabbit interrupted hastily before Michael could hear any more. “Holdin’ hands is fine, Jon, it’s…” She paused, then softened her tone. “It’s fine.” She took The Jon’s hand again, interlacing their fingers, and did her best to ignore Michael’s widening grin as she gestured for the mechanic to lead the way to the workshop.

This… really was happening, wasn't it? Her and Jon? It gave her a little chill to think about. She’d never really been _in love_ before. And yet… going by the deep thrumming that refused to die down inside her chassis, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing after all.

 -

“Okay, Rabbit,” Michael started gently once they had gotten inside the workshop and settled Rabbit onto the slab, “I’m gonna have to strap you down for this one, since I’m going to be working inside your head. You gonna be okay, or should I turn you offline for this?”

A small shiver went through Rabbit’s chassis. It hadn’t been all that long ago, really, since Becile had opened up her eye, and the memory still played afresh in her processor at the slightest provocation.

Like right now.

“It’s okay,” she said at last. “I’ve… I’ve got Jon, and I’ve g-got you, so…” She took a few deep breaths into her bellows to try and stave off a temperature increase. “I think I’ll be okay. Fo-for now.”

“Okay,” Michael agreed, “but if things start getting bad, I want you to tell me. I promise I’ll tell you everything once you wake back up, if things come to that. Don’t feel like you have to stay awake.”

Rabbit sighed and nodded. “Got it.”

She shuttered her optics as Michael began to buckle the straps around her wrists and ankles, grateful for the gentle pressure of The Jon’s hand on her own. She knew that she was safe, knew that there was no need to be afraid, but with every clink of metal and squeak of leather, her mind kept drifting further and further back into the darkness of that lab…

The Jon’s fingers squeezed around her own. “It’s not gonna take very long, is it, Michael?”

“It shouldn’t,” Michael reassured them. “I just need to unscrew the optic cover, deactivate the wires, and then check inside to see if there’s anything weird in there. Still okay, Rabbit?”

“J-j-just peachy,” Rabbit replied. “D’you need me to open my eyes now?”

“Just the left one,” Michael said. “I need to get at the screws holding the cover on.”

Rabbit sighed again. “Okay.” She opened both eyes; if Michael was going to be shutting off her left one, she still wanted to be able to see The Jon. “That good?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Michael peered at the eye for a moment, then turned to retrieve a properly sized screwdriver. “Any way you can hold it in place for me?”

“Al-already done.” Rabbit offered a weak smile. “All r-r-ready to be detached.”

Michael returned the smile, then lowered his goggles over his eyes and began the delicate process of removing the tiny screws. Rabbit’s fingers tightened around The Jon’s, and she received an even harder squeeze in response.

“Well, your eye itself looks to be in good condition,” Michael remarked after the first two screws were out. “And it’s a good quality one, too.”

The corner of Rabbit’s mouth lifted in a wan smile. “Y-y-yeah, it’s a good one. Dunno how he coulda made it, though, his robot was as dumb as a sack’a bricks.”

“Rabbit,” Jon chided her, but Michael made an interested sound.

“That does sound odd,” he agreed, collecting the screws and placing them carefully into a small metal tray. “D’you think he just spent his time working on parts because he didn't really know how to make a brain?”

Rabbit shrugged. “I dunno, he n-n-never let me down into his lab ‘cept for when he was working on me specific’ly. But… he sure didn't have a whole company for makin’ robots like Miss Delilah does, so…”

Michael paused at that, looking slowly up from his tools.

“Rabbit,” he began carefully, “who _was_ it that you were staying with? I know you haven’t wanted to talk about it, but…”

Rabbit sighed, closing her right optic briefly as she tightened her hand around Jon’s.

“His name was… w-was Thaddeus Becile. He used to be at the Cavalcadium, sa-sa-same as Pappy.”

“Becile?” Michael exclaimed in surprise, just as Jon’s other hand came up to clasp Rabbit’s too. “That crackpot?”

Rabbit’s free eyebrow twitched weakly. “Crackpot?”

“He’s a joke among engineering circles,” Michael replied, returning his attention to his tools. He had on his rubber gloves now, and was preparing to disconnect the wires inside Rabbit’s eye. “Miss Delilah was willing to entertain him as just an amateur inventor at first until he stole her designs for advanced optic networks, among other things. I thought these looked familiar.” He removed the blue lens from Rabbit’s eye and peered inside at the wires.

“Yep…” He plucked at a wire and the vision in Rabbit’s left eye went dark. “These are Moreau-designed, Rabbit. Becile didn't make them.”

Rabbit’s hydraulic systems felt weak. She grabbed at The Jon’s hand unsteadily, processor spinning as it tried to compute Michael’s statement. “So, w-w-w-what you’re saying…”

“Becile isn’t a better engineer than your creator,” Michael informed her, teasing smile spreading across his face. “Delilah might be, though.”

“Th-that’s fine…” Rabbit felt like a magnet had just been swiped across her processor. The eye… so Becile _hadn’t_ made it, after all, _wasn’t_ smarter or more talented than Pappy.

She could use it, now, and not feel like she was betraying Pappy’s memory.

“Now, on to the most important part,” Michael continued, oblivious to Rabbit’s internal revelation. “Let’s see if there’s anything else hanging around in here.” He spent the next several minutes investigating the cavity of Rabbit’s optical network, humming thoughtfully to himself as he prodded wires and tapped on connectors. Finally, just when Rabbit thought she couldn’t take the suspense anymore, Michael pushed back his goggles and smiled down at Rabbit triumphantly.

“You’re all clear,” he announced, a touch of smug satisfaction creeping its way into his tone. “No Becile devices in here.”

“Y-you’re sure?” Rabbit asked tentatively, even as a profound wave of relief descended upon her chassis. Becile hadn’t managed to implant her with anything.

She was free. She was safe.

“Positive,” Michael replied with a nod. “I checked every inch of your optical network, and there’s nothing there but the standard wires. He’s not gathering any information on you.”

With a sigh that burst forth from the deepest depths of her bellows, Rabbit sank back against the slab in a limp heap of metal as Michael began undoing the straps holding her to the table. Safe. She was _safe_ , for the first time she could remember since leaving Walter Manor. The Jon chirped out a quiet, loving sound, and Rabbit allowed herself to simply drift as Michael got to work on reattaching her optic cover.

Just as the last screw had been tightened into place, there came a rap on the doorframe.

“Michael.” The Spine sounded agitated. “Matt has news.”

“Oh, come on in, Spine.” Michael gestured at Rabbit and Jon. “We were just finishing up, anyway.” He began tucking his instruments back into his toolbox. “You guys can head out if you want. I know you must be tired.”

“Michael—” That instruction seemed to have agitated The Spine further. “This is important, it’s about—”

“Shh!” The Jon scolded him, supporting Rabbit around the waist and under her arms as they shuffled away from the worktable. “Rabbit’s just had surgery, you know. She needs peace and quiet to _rest_.” And he maneuvered the two of them right past The Spine, who stared after them with a mix of bafflement and irritation, mouth open as if he’d half a mind to call them back.

His behavior confused Rabbit—what kind of news could there be that would unsettle a robot like The Spine so?—but she’d hardly had a moment to think about it before The Jon was leading her out of the workshop and into the late afternoon sun.

That was when she saw _her._

For several seconds Rabbit simply stared, optics repeatedly registering and re-registering the figure in front of her as if trying to make sure that the image they saw was accurate. At her side, The Jon picked up on her shock and halted, looking between the two of them in confusion.

“Oh, Rabbit, my darling Rabbit—” Her voice was thin, pained, but the familiar tone and cadence lit up old neural circuits like dominoes down Rabbit’s spine and a wave of such painful longing crashed over her that her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Your eye, oh, what happened to your eye, darling? Mr. Becile didn't tell me that you needed it fixed…”

Rabbit’s chassis gave an uncontrollable flinch at the name and Iris pulled back the hand she’d reached out towards her, watching with wide eyes as The Jon gently steadied Rabbit with hands on her waist.

“And… and who might you be?” she asked weakly when it became apparent that Rabbit was not going to respond. The Jon’s hands tightened anxiously around Rabbit’s middle.

“I’m… my name’s The Jon,” he mumbled, voice echoing Rabbit’s palpable reluctance. “I’m… Rabbit’s… friend.”

“Oh.” Iris forced a small smile at the words. “That’s lovely, dear, I’m so happy you’ve made other automaton friends here.”

Rabbit’s chassis was rigid under The Jon’s hands, face turned obstinately away from her mother.

“I…” Iris obviously hadn’t been expecting such a cold welcome. She faltered for a moment, then tried again, forcing a cheerier note to her voice. “Miss Delilah tells me you’ve been doing very well for yourself here. Learning music and everything, just how your Pappy would have—”

“Don’t.” How dare she talk to Rabbit about Pappy, about what he would have wanted? How dare she even come here at all, to Balboa, where Rabbit _was_ doing so well without her? She hadn’t cared enough to check up on her while she was trapped at Becile’s, being tortured for the secrets hidden inside her chassis. She hadn’t cared enough to even answer her _letters_ when Rabbit had needed her _._ Well, Rabbit _didn't_ need her, especially not now. Not when she had Jon.

“ _Come on._ ” Without a word to Iris, Rabbit set off towards the charging building, ignoring the unsteadiness of her legs and The Jon’s exclamations of dismay at her behavior.

Let them be upset. Let Iris’ trip have been for nothing. Maybe then she’d finally wise up and realize that she didn't want Rabbit back, after all. That they could finally go their separate ways with no hard feelings, and then—

Rabbit swiped a gloved hand angrily across her eyes.

Then maybe she could finally let go, too.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm sincerely sorry about how long this update has taken/how short the chapter is: things have been crazy the past two months, what with partner almost getting new job, looking for roommates/applying to jobs like crazy, partner getting turned down from new job, and just general adult-y suckyness. I hope the developments in this chapter make up at least a little for the delay, tho~

“Why did you do that?” The Jon demanded tearfully as they barged into Rabbit’s cubicle, Rabbit flinging her hat into the corner in an uncharacteristic display of anger. “She’s been looking for you for _months_ , why wouldn't you talk to her?”

“She shouldn't be here!” Rabbit snapped, seething as she paced along the too-small space. “She d-d-d-didn’t write me a _single_ doggone letter after he hurt me. I don’t kn-kn-know what they promised her to come, but…” Oil brimmed up underneath her photoreceptors again which she didn't bother to wipe away. “It sure as heck ain’t me.”

“Oh, Rabbit…” Jon moved forward to embrace her, ignoring the clockwork bot’s halfhearted attempts to push him away. “She loves you, she wouldn't have come if she didn't love you.”

Wordlessly, Rabbit shook her head, but allowed The Jon to rub a soothing hand up and down her back as her chassis shuddered with suppressed sobs.

“I can’t,” she managed at last, after Jon had maneuvered them to the floor, Rabbit’s head tucked lovingly underneath The Jon’s chin. “It hurts too m-much, if she doesn’t—if she doesn’t—”

“Do you want me to?” The Jon asked suddenly, voice tentative. “Talk to her, I mean. So you don't have to?”

Rabbit’s chassis tensed reflexively, then eased.

“You’d… you’d do that?” She leaned back a bit, the better to look The Jon in the eye. The golden bot shrugged in response, tracing a line down the silver grating of Rabbit’s cheek.

“You’re scared to. And I’m not. So… it only makes sense for me to do it, right? That’s what The Spine would say.” He leaned forward and pressed a tingling kiss to the part of Rabbit’s forehead not covered by the bandana. “Here, I’ll just send a message to Spine to—” His voice broke off and his serene expression melted into one of distressed dismay. “Oh.”

It was Rabbit’s turn to console The Jon, pulling herself to an upright position so she could pull the other automaton’s head in to her chest and stroke the soft curls lovingly.

“It’s okay,” she soothed, rocking the two of them gently back and forth. “You don’t need to send no message, Spine and the others’ll know what to do with her until w-we… _you_ go an’ see her.”

“I miss him so much,” The Jon hiccupped, clutching at the folds of Rabbit’s dress. “I miss… talking to him, and _hearing_ him—”

“But you talk ta him all the time,” Rabbit exclaimed, pulling back to look at Jon’s face. The Jon shook his head.

“It’s not the same,” he said tearfully. “I used to be able to ask him for help on _anything_ , or he could hear me if I got… got sad, or…” He sniffed and looked up at Rabbit, expression tentative. “I… asked him for help that day, when we asked you to join the band. Because you were sad, and I wanted to help you, but I didn’t know how.”

Ah. That… explained rather a lot, actually.

And in that moment, Rabbit made her decision.

“I’ll do it,” she said, so abruptly that The Jon’s optics clicked several times in his confusion. “I’m gonna get Michael to p-p-put me on the network. I… I know it’s not the same as puttin’ you back on, but…” she faltered, suddenly anxious about how Jon would receive her suggestion. “You could talk to The Spine easier then, couldn’t’cha? I c-c-could tell him whatever ya wanted, an’ tell him if you’re feelin’ down and need him to come see ya…”

The Jon didn't reply for a long moment, long enough that Rabbit began to worry that she’d been too glib in her suggestion. How could she have thought that that was any kind of acceptable solution? It didn't fix any of the actual problems, not really—Jon would still never be able to hear The Spine again, and wouldn't it just hurt him more to have Rabbit suddenly be privy to the world that The Jon was no longer a part of?

“But… what if you leave?” The question was so soft that Rabbit almost didn't hear it. “What if you make up with your mom and go home with her?”

“I wouldn’t,” Rabbit swore immediately, but as soon as the words left her mouth, she knew they weren’t quite true. Ever since leaving Becile’s house—hell, ever since leaving Walter Manor—all she’d wanted was to be reunited with her mother again, her still-unexplained desertion notwithstanding. If the option arose…

No.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” she said, much more gently this time. “Think about it—she couldn't take me with her last time, ‘cause there wouldn't be any place to put me where she’d be workin’. Unless she’s ma-ma-managed to find a house already, it’d be the same thing all over again. I _gotta_ stay here.”

That didn't seem to make The Jon feel any better.

“What if she does have a house?” he asked quietly, refusing to meet Rabbit’s eyes. “What if she wants you to go with her?”

Rabbit grimaced. Her pain-avoidance centers were already extrapolating the potential damage of leaving The Jon behind, but, even deeper within her essential coding, the imperative to seek out and stick to her creators pulsed at the thought of finally being able to fulfill that command.

“I… I dunno, Jon,” she said at last, warring priorities stirring up the faint ache of static in her skull. “I mean… it wouldn't hafta mean anything, if I left—Balboa ain’t that far. I could always come an’ see ya again…”

“But you won’t,” The Jon whispered disconsolately into the fabric covering Rabbit’s boilerplate. “If you leave now, you won’t come back.”

Rabbit’s eyebrows creased. She didn't like it when The Jon started talking this way; it made her feel as though her decisions didn't mean anything, like they’d already been made for her by some strange, unknown entity, when it certainly _felt_ like she was the one controlling them.

“Is that yer void talkin’?” she asked, trying to inject a sense of humor into her tone. “Or are ya just worryin’ for no good reason?”

The Jon didn’t reply at first, and Rabbit’s sense of discomfort grew. He couldn't think that Rabbit would honestly just… _forget_ about him, could he? Not after everything they’d been through together. Rabbit tried to imagine actually going home with Iris; to a new house, a new room, new people to meet and learn about and get used to (and would they even accept a robot as a neighbor or housemate or family member?). There would likely be a new role for her to play: she wouldn't still just be Iris’ daughter, would she? Sitting around the house all day, tweaking her programming and learning how to be a better human? Or would she continue her musical education? How would she even do that without Jon and the others?

Rabbit had found more than purpose at Balboa: she had _friends_.

She placed a copper finger underneath The Jon’s chin, savoring the simple pleasure of that connection as she tilted the other bot’s face up to meet hers. Jon’s eyes remained averted at first—fretful, anxious, sad. He looked almost how Iris had, when she’d first learned that Peter Walter was sick. How she’d looked, again, as she was dropping Rabbit off at Becile’s house for the first time.

And for the first time, that realization did not frighten Rabbit.

“I love you, Jon,” she murmured, thankful that her voice did not stumble over the words. The Jon’s eyes widened, snapping back to meet hers. His mouth opened, but what words he had intended to say never materialized, as Rabbit leaned in and _plinked_ their lips together, brass and gold bumping up against copper and rubber.

There was a spark, and then—it was over, Rabbit pulling away to give Jon some room as the brass bot stared at her, steam billowing from his cheeks at an amazing rate. “You—”

“Come with me!” Rabbit demanded, grabbing The Jon’s hands tightly in her own. “If-if-if I leave, will you come with me? Then it won’t m-m-matter if I don’t come back, ‘cause you’ll be with me! Wherever it is!”

“I—you—I—…” The Jon, eyes wide, didn't quite seem to know what to address first. “But I can’t _go_ , what about Spine? And Michael? And—and—”

“That’s just more reason to come back an’ visit,” Rabbit insisted stubbornly. “We’re more likely ta do it if there’s more’n one of us wantin’ to, but that don’t m-m- _matter_ , Jon!” He needed to understand this. “I’m not leavin’ ya! Whether we go back with her to San Diego or stay right here an’ say goodbye, I’m not just leavin’ ya to be all alone again! I won’t have it! Do you understand?”

The Jon’s optics blinked slowly, once. Twice. Then, almost as if hesitant to accept his good fortune, he moved slowly forward to embrace Rabbit, gold fingers tangling loosely in the cords of Rabbit’s dress.

“Okay,” he whispered. And with that one word, the thrumming-humming-buzzing within Rabbit’s chassis returned with such force that Rabbit threw her arms around The Jon and squeezed until the brass bot’s plating creaked from her attempts to impart the intense myriad of sensations through touch.

Though it was rather peculiar, Rabbit thought, as The Jon pulled back from his embrace just long enough to press a soft kiss to Rabbit’s cheek ridge; if she focused hard enough, it almost sounded as though a quiet music note echoed inside her core.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving (late wishes, I know :P). We have a chapter focused almost solely on The Jon this time! It was a little bit of a struggle writing him at times, but ultimately rather fun. I hope you guys enjoy it. :)
> 
> Merry Christmas/Happy Hannukah to those who celebrate them, and I hope you all have a wonderful New Year! (And for those of you who are lucky enough to attend the SPG 10th anniversary show, take tons of photos/videos for the rest of us!)

It took The Jon some time to figure out where they’d moved Rabbit’s mother to.

First he returned to the workshop, as that seemed the logical thing to do, but when he got there the only person there was Matt, who was busy working on his end-of-term project, and no, he hadn’t seen Michael and the others and didn't know anything about a Miss Tonia. Maybe he should try the saloon?

Except when he got _there_ The Spine wasn’t working—and why would he be, if he was helping Rabbit’s mom settle in, _stupid_ Jon—and Piper shot him such a dirty look as he entered that he immediately turned around and left without speaking to anyone, the plates on his back trembling in self-conscious anxiety.

At a bit of a loss, he scuffed along the main street for a while, periodically asking those he came across if they’d happened to see Miss Delilah’s carriage that afternoon, or one of the Matter Masters about. The Spine? Michael, even? But all he got in response were a variety of noncommittal noises, shrugs, grunts, and the occasional “sorry, sport, haven’t seen ‘em.”

By this point, The Jon was anxious to get back to Rabbit—he didn't feel comfortable leaving the copper bot alone for long periods when she got emotional, and it was getting late anyway—but he didn't want to go back with nothing to show for his efforts. He had to at least find where they were keeping her. _Then_ he could go back.

“Hi, um. Hi, Jon.”

“Oh! Prilly!” The Jon stopped short to offer a bright smile to the rotund little bot. Prilly was another one of the stable workers; his shifts frequently overlapped with The Jon’s. “Did you just get off work?”

Prilly blinked up at him a few times, bright blue photoreceptors flickering slightly as he thought.

“Y…yes,” he said at last. “Yes, I—I just l-l-left. I had to, um. Stay… stay late. Lots of things to do.”

“Like… lots of new horses, things to do?” Excitement was building inside The Jon’s chest, spurring Bella to make several dizzying flips in the void, but he tried his best to not let on. Prilly was easily overwhelmed and frequently shut down if too much was asked of him at once.

Prilly’s eyes flickered brighter.

“Why, yes,” he said, voice lifting slightly from its monotone. “There were sev… several new horses and… some I did recognize… One was Miss—Miss—Miss Delilah’s.” His unexpressive little mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “Hers are always very… very well behaved. They l-l-let me fee-feed them apples and did not try to bite me.”

The Jon smiled at him again. “That’s great, Prilly. Did you, um.” He glanced around to make sure they were alone—generally they weren’t supposed to discuss the business of their travellers. “Did you hear where their humans were going? Or if they had anybody with them?”

Prilly let out a shrill note of alarm. “The-The Jon, that is aga-ainst protocols! I cannot tell you—”

“Please, Prilly?” Jon begged. “It’s for Rabbit, I think Miss Delilah brought her mom here, but I don’t know where they put her. I just need to find where she is.”

There was a melodious groaning noise as Prilly tried to reconcile The Jon’s request with his programmed ethics. “You… you will tell no one else what I tell you?”

“No one,” Jon promised. “Where were they bringing her, Prilly?”

Prilly hesitated another minute, looking carefully up both sides of the street to make sure no one was within earshot. Then, very quietly, he leaned in and whispered in a low, scratchy tone, “They were going to the saloon. Miss… Miss Delilah wanted to keep her arrival quiet, so I would look at her… at the special entrance they use for her.” Prilly’s chassis shuddered and he quickly looked up and down the street again. “You tell-tell no one what I told you.”

“I won’t, I promise.” The Jon’s void fluttered with a barely contained excitement, Bella executing several acrobatic flips inside of him in response. “Thank you so much, Prilly, thank you—”

“Thank me for what?” Prilly asked, and with a little wave he turned and continued down the street towards the charging building.

 

-

 

The Jon felt positively light as air as he strode back down the street towards the saloon. He knew where to find Iris now! Now all he had to do was go talk to her, and reassure Rabbit that of _course_ Iris still loved her, and wanted her back, and of _course_ The Jon would be able to come back with her to San Diego—even if that meant leaving behind his job… and his friends… and his brother…

No. He wasn’t going to think about that right now. This was for Rabbit’s sake. She’d wanted to find her mother for the entire time The Jon had known her. This was _important._ And if Rabbit wanted Jon to come with her when she went home, then… Then that’s what he’d have to do. The Spine and Michael would understand.

He’d reached the saloon. Faint strains of high-pitched fiddle music reached his ears, and he winced at the shocking inexpertness of it. He couldn't wait until The Steam Man Band resumed its rightful place as nightly entertainment; the town had had to suffer through Jules and Robin’s second-rate playing for much too long.

With a sigh, The Jon turned down his aural acuity and began to search for the hidden entrance.

It had been an unfortunate necessity during the initial expansion of Balboa; Miss Delilah’s fame and that of her company had spread like wildfire across the west, and every newspaper worth its salt had sent out reporters by the dozens, all vying to be the one to finally get an extensive interview with the leading engineer of intelligent, sentient automatonic life. Miss Delilah, although a perfectly kind and patient mother to all of her creations, had little patience for reporters, most of whom were convinced that the humanity of her automatons was merely an elaborate mimicry and were determined to uncover “how she’d done it.”

Thus the door.

Only a handful of automatons in the town knew where it was or what it looked like; easier to keep a secret that way, the older robots had intoned when The Jon had asked to be told. He wondered if maybe The Spine had been considered trustworthy enough to be in on the secret, but it wouldn't matter even if he was; The Jon could no longer contact him through the network to ask. The lubricating ducts behind his eyes swelled at the reminder, but he blinked hard several times, forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand. Find the door, find the door. It wouldn't have a handle, because the whole point was to be hidden. But then how was he supposed to find it?

_Be logical._ A snippet of The Spine’s voice, offering much-repeated advice, played in his mind as he thought. Where _couldn't_ the door be? Start with that.

Well, it certainly wouldn't be anywhere near the front door, The Jon reasoned, or that would defeat the whole purpose of being secret. In fact, it probably wouldn't be on that entire side of the building, since reporters would be able to see anyone coming in that way.

So the back of the building, then. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching him (no one was; the other robots in the town tended to ignore The Jon as much as possible), The Jon stepped off the main street and headed around back.

The wide L of the saloon’s two arms stretched out in front of him, almost intimidating in their size. The Jon quickly scanned the outside walls, but no seams, holes or latches were immediately apparent. Just the windows that led into each of the rooms.

Except…

Not all of the windows _did_ lead into rooms! Jon quickly checked the internal blueprint he had for the saloon and confirmed that yes, there were several full-length windows along each hallway in between some of the rooms. Maybe… He shook his head in denial. No, no, that was a stupid idea, a typical “look at what The Jon thought up this time!” if there ever was one. There was no way that Miss Delilah—

But why not? Another voice, more like Rabbit’s this time, echoed inside his cranium. _Just give it a try, Jonny, what could go wrong?_

_Well… okay,_ The Jon replied quietly, even though he knew that there was no one listening to his broken little signal. Then, even more quietly…

_I love you._

_Message undelivered. Check network settings to troubleshoot._

_Focus._ The Jon wiped at his eyes and refocused on the wall. Windows. Check the windows. There were six on each side of each arm, two rooms between each one. Twenty-four in all. Get moving.

The first six he checked all looked like perfectly normal windows; no strange latches or hidden doorknobs that he could find. By the eighth, he’d started wondering if he’d just let his imagination get the better of him again, and maybe he should just give up and get back to Rabbit (he really needed to get back to Rabbit). But then he noticed an extra window, not in the normal configuration with the others. He looked at it, puzzled, for a moment as he accessed the saloon’s blueprint once again. The window opened into a maintenance closet, according to his files. A closet wouldn't need a full-length window, would it…?

Careful not to let his excitement get the better of him this time, The Jon edged closer to the window and turned on the high-powered lighting behind his optics in order to see it better in the growing dark. It still looked like just a window… But there had to be something special about this one, he knew it. Carefully he began feeling around the edges of the window to check for a hidden latch.

_Ddddddanger._

The Jon snatched his arms back out of reflex, immediately re-scanning the door to see what he’d missed. But whatever had caught QWERTY’s attention was not instantly apparent. Tentatively he moved one hand forward, sliding his fingers along the right hand side of the window frame.

_DDDDaaaaanger. Hazardous material encountered._

Hazardous…? More curious now than afraid, The Jon tried to pull one finger away from the frame and met a slight resistance as he did so. A magnet! Oh, that was so clever! Ignoring QWERTY’s continued warnings (there were no electronics sensitive enough in his fingers to be damaged by a magnet this small), The Jon dragged his knuckle along the window frame towards the glass. He couldn't quite _see_ the magnet from this angle, but his sensitive ears picked up the quiet scritch of it dragging along the metal as it followed his finger.

A few seconds later there was a quiet _clink_ and the warning messages finally stopped. Pleased with his ingenuity, The Jon felt again at the window edge for a latch and found one. He depressed it, and the window swung inward.

He’d done it! He’d found it! The Jon allowed himself a little dance and then stepped forward into the closet, closing the window behind him. He returned the little magnet to its approximate home, ignoring QWERTY’s repeated complaints, and then ventured out into the hallway of the saloon.

His excitement dwindled slightly as he looked around at the rows and rows of identical doors. Which one was Iris’s? He didn't have time to knock on every door to see who was inside, and that would almost certainly get him in trouble with Piper. He could maybe listen—no, that wasn’t much better, and what if someone caught him at it? Jon shifted from foot to foot as he dithered. He needed to _think_ , but the anxiety at being so close yet still so far from his goal was severely impeding his mental processes.

Then he caught it—the slightest, most delicate tendril of—of _something_ —floating by. Something that felt like Rabbit.

Like a hound sniffing at a scent he followed it, the faint wisps of blue and green and a little bit of black leading him further and further down the corridor until they gathered, like a signpost, in front of a door.

The door was ajar.

“Miss Iris…?” The Jon asked hesitantly, peering around into the room. Rabbit’s mother looked up from her suitcase, eyes puzzled for a moment, then smiled kindly at him.

“Oh, come in, dear,” she said, beckoning for him to enter fully. “The Jon, wasn’t it?”

“Yes’m,” The Jon answered politely, internally wriggling with delight that she’d remembered his name, “The” and all. A bit belatedly, he remembered his manners. “Are you settling in well?”

Miss Iris’s smile grew sad, and she sank down onto the bed with a sigh. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. That silver automaton—The Spine, I believe his name was—he was very kind in helping me find a room and bring in my things.”

“That’s The Spine,” The Jon said cheerfully. “He’s always really helpful.”

Miss Iris smiled again, but the motion was fleeting. “How is Rabbit?”

The Jon deflated slightly. “Oh. She’s… she’s okay,” he replied. “We’ve been teaching her music like she always wanted, and she’s doing really well.” That didn't seem to be the information that Iris was looking for. In fact, it didn't even seem to cheer her up at all, and The Jon screwed up his lips for a moment before blurting out in a bold voice, “And she’s doing so well, actually, that she’s going to be singing with us in our concert next week.”

_That_ startled Iris into looking up, eyes wide in surprise.

“ _Singing_?” she repeated, voice incredulous. “But she hasn’t been programmed—”

“I’ve been teaching her,” The Jon replied obstinately. “She’s learned the guitar and the accordion and she’s going to be able to sing, too. She’s even written her own song.”

“My word.” Iris leaned forward, resting her forehead in her hands. “She’s… managed so well without me, hasn't she?”

The Jon’s mouth pulled to the side. “Not exactly,” he said. “She’s been learning, but…” How much would Rabbit want him to say? “She’s still sad sometimes. She’s been missing you a lot, and Miss Delilah’s been looking for you for a while.”

Another sad smile. “At Rabbit’s request? Or because an unchaperoned automaton had wandered into your midst?”

A flash of electricity surged through The Jon’s chassis and he clenched his fists against the sudden swell of emotion.

“Of _course_ Rabbit wanted to find you!” he exclaimed, voice fraying a little bit in his pain. “You’re her _mother!_ She _needs_ you!”

Iris gave a quiet laugh. It was a painful laugh, one that The Jon hated to hear from humans because of the terrible tight feeling it caused in his chest when they did so.

“I appreciate the sentiment, my dear,” she said, “but that display earlier didn't look very much like needing to me.”

No, this wasn't how it was supposed to go at all. For either of them. For a brief, disorienting moment, The Jon felt in his chest a deep sense of loss, of pain as acute as if Cherry had dropped dead in the stables without him.

“But she does need you,” The Jon insisted, stumbling over the words. “She’s just… hurting, right now.” _Because you didn't come find her._ But he couldn't say that, that would only make things worse. “I’ll… I’ll make her come visit. You’ll see. She just needs some time.”

Iris accepted his words with a gracious smile, but The Jon knew that he hadn’t managed to convince her. Just as he was about to step back over the threshold into the hallway, he paused and turned around.

“Will you at least come to our concert next week?” he asked, voice plaintive. “It’ll be in the saloon, the main room. You won’t even have to go very far.”

It was several moments before Iris nodded, her eyes misty as she averted them from The Jon’s gaze. The Jon took that as his cue to leave; discussions were usually over once the human started to cry. He only hated that he’d been the cause, and that he hadn’t managed to secure a better outcome for Iris or Rabbit.

Rabbit.

Urgency lending him speed, The Jon raced down the hallway back to the secret door. He tore down the magnet holding the latch in place and, out in the descending night once more, flew through the streets towards the charging building.

He burst through the door at full pelt, startling the dozen or so robots standing in line for their keys. If they complained, however, he didn't hear it, as he was already making his way through the cubicles towards the cloud of blue and black he could feel pulsing in time with his footsteps the closer he came.

Number 17.

He threw open the door—for a split second saw Rabbit curled on the ground by the charging station, black oil tracks staining her cheeks, arms tight around her skeletal knees—and then suddenly Rabbit was on him, faster than he’d thought the copper bot could move, limbs entwined around The Jon’s and face buried in The Jon’s chest as her chassis shook and trembled with suppressed sobs.

“There, there,” The Jon murmured, stroking his hands soothingly down Rabbit’s back as he maneuvered the both of them back down to the floor. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Rabbit did not speak for the rest of the night, but every time she awoke from a fitful slumber to reach out, grasping at the air with a strangled cry that always sounded suspiciously like "Ma" stuck in her throat, The Jon was there to soothe her with gentle words and rhythm, stroking her skull and rocking her slowly until the lullaby calmed her back into low-level stasis and another reprieve.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I'm so sorry about the chapter having taken this long- the past three months have been very hectic for me, job and health wise, and then my beautiful laptop crashed two days ago. Thankfully I had most of the chapter backed up ;-; In any case, I'm happy to finally upload this for you- we're stepping a little backwards in time with this one, from The Jon and The Spine's perspectives. I hope you enjoy.

It came on slowly, the knowing. A lack of surprise here, a sense of expectation about an event there. Even The Jon didn't really notice, not at first; things just seemed to finally be making sense about the world, just like The Spine had promised they would, and he was happy enough about this development that it didn't occur to him to tell anyone what was going on. The fact that his core was getting quieter and quieter with each passing day hardly registered, and Michael, busy with his preliminary examinations for Moreau Robotics, hadn’t had time to bring in his usual robots for maintenance.

Then Prilly got hurt.

He hadn’t meant for it to happen, The Jon repeated over and over—he’d only told Prilly that a carriage was ready for them. He’d seen it through the stable window. He didn't know why another carriage had appeared out of nowhere—

Except it _hadn’t_ , everyone insisted. There had only been one, the one that had come flying into the check-in station and hit poor Prilly, who’d been looking around in bewilderment for the carriage that Jon had told him was already there.

Or maybe he’d been pushed, a few of the villagers muttered darkly over their oil and water in the saloon that night. The Jon _had_ been registered at the scene almost immediately after the accident. Perhaps someone should look into it.

“There isn’t a hateful bolt in Jon’s body,” The Spine snapped once word of the rumor had gotten back to him. “He would never intentionally harm anyone.”

But _un_ intentionally?

The Spine stayed relatively silent after that, a stoic, supportive presence by The Jon’s side as the humans cleaned up the mess and set Prilly to rights. He’d be able to walk and talk again, they assured the town, but his processing and speech abilities would likely be… lacking.

The Jon never wanted to go outside again.

He was convinced he was about to be turned off at any moment. Michael had conducted a thorough investigation of his brain the day after the incident, to see if anything had happened to cause the supposed malfunction, but the results turned up inconclusive. The next step was to check his core, Michael told him, but a wave of such strong fear overtook The Jon’s chassis at the words that he hurriedly made up an excuse about The Spine needing him and escaped from the workshop as quickly as he could.

Michael wasn’t allowed to see. It was dangerous. The Jon needed to protect him.

Protect him?

From what?

His core was quiet. For the first time in weeks, its silence frightened The Jon.

Without telling anyone where he was going, he ventured out to the city outskirts. Found a scrub tree to sit under, so that even the gleam of his brass body was invisible to potential onlookers. Unfastened the buttons of his frilly black shirt, removed his suspender straps, and, mentally preparing himself as best he could for the possible explosion, opened up his front maintenance panel.

His insides were gone.

Well, not… _gone,_ precisely. He wasn't _empty._ But they’d certainly been… replaced.

The Jon stared in openmouthed wonder at the circle of blue swirling inside his chassis where his core had been only a month before. It was blue matter, he could tell that much. But how had it leaked out of his core? How was it being contained? And what was that—that—

A small golden speck appeared in the ocean of blue, rippling larger and larger until at last a fully grown golden koi swam in tight circles within the confines of The Jon’s chassis, emitting a quiet song that Jon could feel vibrating all the way down to his toes.

It was beautiful.

She was beautiful.

Was she what was left of his core? Or a creature from another world?

“Don’t worry,” The Jon promised her as she flipped and splashed within the waterless blue expanse. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Except that was easier said than done. As the days passed and Bella grew stronger, minor electrical discharges that usually occurred without much notice developed into full-blown glitches. The Jon, never known for his fine motor control in the first place, was soon all but banned from the saloon when he wasn’t performing with The Spine. He stopped being able to sleep through the night. And then he began missing messages.

At first The Spine blamed it on his inattentiveness.

“You need to listen for us, sport,” he chided after finding The Jon once again immersed in a fascinating conversation with the stable horses. (He’d tried explaining the phenomenon to The Spine, but after being on the receiving end of a blank, concerned stare, The Jon had quickly given up for fear that Michael would be called.) “What if it had been an emergency?”

“Yes, Spine,” Jon would mumble, and then quietly apologize to whatever horse he’d been talking to as he was herded out to whatever chore he’d been neglecting.

The static frightened him.

For his entire life, he’d always taken it for granted that he’d be able to hear his brother, or the other robots in the town, as easily as he could hear himself think. The steady stream of messages comforted him, even at five AM when his only company were the patrol bots monitoring the roads in and out of town. But now… there would be moments where the voices went quiet, and he felt dangerously off balance, lost in a sea of fog without the multitude of voices keeping him steady and anchored to the present. The Spine was worried about him too, he could tell. (He could tell too many things these days.) But he couldn't go to Michael. Uncontained blue matter was dangerous—he wouldn't hurt another one of his friends. And he was still responsible for Bella. If Michael turned him off—which Jon was starting to feel was more and more likely—Bella would die, and he couldn't let that happen.

Then a new blue matter core, in special reinforced housing, arrived in Balboa.

The Spine sent him fifty-three messages that day. They were stern, at first—

_I was told you never checked into work today. Want to tell me what’s going on, sport?_

—and then steadily grew more and more concerned.

_No one’s seen you all day. Where are you?_

_He’s within broadcasting range, but I can’t find him. Jon, if you’re receiving this, please respond._

_Michael’s worried about you. I’m worried about you._

_He’s been having a hard time receiving messages lately, but they all say delivered…_

_Jon, can you hear me? I don’t know where else to look._

_Whatever the problem is, we can talk about it. Just tell me where you are._

He hated to make The Spine worry, but he was also too frightened to go home. He didn't want to be replaced, didn’t want Bella to die. Michael was going to make a new robot to replace him, and then they wouldn't need him anymore, wouldn't need a clumsy, malfunctioning, stupid, irresponsible robot around anymore.

He couldn't make his eyes stop leaking.

 -

It was almost eight in the evening when his low oil warning came on.

_Stupid, Jon._ His boiler was still doing okay, as he’d at least had the forethought to bring a canteen when he left, but it hadn’t occurred to him to bring backup oil.

Was it safe to try and sneak back? The last message had come through over an hour ago; maybe they’d given up trying to find him. That is, if anyone besides The Spine and Michael had even been looking. Everyone else hated him now.

The Jon sniffed, wiping at the oil that still trickled, unabated, from beneath his optics. It was worth a try. He needed to keep himself running, after all, and what was the point of leaving Balboa if he was just going to let himself go into emergency shutdown?

He knew where Matt kept the spare oil in the workshop. It wouldn't take much time at all to slip in, grab a few cans, and slip out. He’d replaced his own oil once or twice before—how hard could it be?

He hadn’t counted on The Spine keeping watch just inside the workshop’s door.

Or on the new core sitting proudly on Michael’s desk, casting a pale blue light across the wall of tools and the beginnings of a sturdy new bronze chassis.

 -

The Spine, dozing in low-level stasis in a chair outside of the main workroom, startled awake to the sound of a scream and choking, gasping sobs.

_Jon._

Almost before his startup checklist had completed he was on his feet, staggering towards the source of the noise, a single imperative outweighing every other priority.

_Jon. Protect The Jon._

His optics, adjusting unforgivably slowly to the dim light, registered his brother hunched over on the ground by Michael’s desk. Damaged? The Spine scanned the scene but noticed no oil or leaking hydraulic fluid, no excess steam being vented from The Jon’s joints. So what was the matter?

“ _Safe, you’re safe now,_ ” he tweeted, stepping forward to kneel by the brass robot’s side. “ _It’s me, The Spine. What’s wrong, Jon, are you hurt?_ ”

“ _Replace me,_ ” The Jon sobbed, face buried in his hands. “ _Michael’s going to replace me, he’s going to turn me off and then she’s going to DIE, don’t let him kill her, Spine, please don’t let him kill her—_ ”

“ _What?_ ” The Spine re-analyzed the audio, sure that there must be something wrong with his software, but the translation remained the same. “ _Kill who, Jon? What are you talking about?_ ”

But The Jon only repeated his pleas, sobbing the words out through vocal chords choked with oil. The Spine winced. He must have ruptured something, either with his scream or while he was out missing. He would need emergency repairs, and soon.

“ _It’s all right, sport, I won’t let Michael kill anyone, I promise. But we need to get you fixed up so none of that oil gets into your boiler._ ”

“NO!” The Jon cried, jerking away from The Spine’s gentle hand on his shoulder. “He’ll turn me off, I don’t want him to turn me off!”

“Okay, okay!” The Spine held up his hands. “No one’s going to turn you off, Jon. But we really do need to take care of you. I’m going to go find Matt.”

The Jon only sobbed harder.

What on earth had _happened_ to him? The Spine’s spines quivered in sympathy and what was, perhaps, the beginnings of fear as he headed towards the on-call engineer’s booth. He’d been gone less than twelve hours—had he managed to break something vital while he was out, wherever-he’d-been? And why had he left in the first place? Had something gone wrong with his programming?

In the end, they needed to use The Jon’s manual shutdown switch. He’d been utterly inconsolable, no matter what either of them had said, and all but refused to move to an examination table, still repeating his pleas for them to not turn him off and to not kill “Bella,” whoever that was.

Fear was a new emotion for The Spine. From the moment he’d first been switched on, everything about the world had made sense. He’d been programmed with a vast vocabulary to describe the beings and events going on around him, and libraries’ worth of knowledge on how the world itself worked. He knew every ailment that could possibly befall himself and his fellow robots, and even had a rudimentary understanding of how he could go about fixing them.

But this…

This wasn't part of his manuals.

His brother was sick.

And he didn’t know what to do.

“I patched up his oil lines, Spine.” Matt’s voice startled him from his troubled thoughts. “Do you think I should look at his processor or his core first?”

“I’m not sure,” The Spine replied slowly, grimacing at his own ignorance. Even analyzing twenty potential malfunction paths at a time for the last several minutes, he still hadn’t been able to come up with a plausible explanation for what had happened. Now he could feel his own processor slowing under the strain of too much workload and not enough rest. “He didn’t seem to be lacking power or awareness, so I doubt the problem is in his core. But he was so confused…”

“I’ll just worry about his brain, then.” Matt laid a reassuring hand on The Spine’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, man, he’s home and safe now. Go along and get some rest, I’ll take good care of him.”

“Thanks, Matt, but if it’s all the same to you…” The Spine smiled tiredly. “I’ll stick around here. He’ll want to see me when he wakes up.”

“All right, then.” Matt clapped him on the shoulder again, and then gestured to the empty chair by his desk. “Be my guest. But really, Spine, get some shuteye if you can. You look a mess.”

“I’ll take it into consideration.” The Spine grunted as he maneuvered himself into the slightly too-small chair, wincing as it creaked under his weight. “You just worry about The Jon. I’ll be fine.”

As Matt began to gather his tools, The Spine felt his systems dwindling towards stasis, despite his best efforts to stay awake. He really ought to stay present, he told himself, just in case something went wrong and Matt needed help… Or if The Jon woke up and needed him…

_Energy reserves low. Shutdown to stasis in two minutes._

…Trust QWERTY to go by the book at the worst moments.

Quickly he made a program instructing QWERTY to wake him at the first signs of consciousness from The Jon, and, because he knew his operating system much too well, another one to wake him in six hours if nothing had happened before then.

_…Programs accepted._

_They’d better be,_ The Spine said sternly, and at last accepted the shutdown command.

 -

“ _Spine…?_ ”

The query was tentative and quiet, but The Spine, ears attuned to his brother’s voice even in sleep, immediately jerked awake.

“Jon?” Oh, what a relief it was to see his brother’s optics alert and aware once again. “How are you feeling? What happened?”

The Jon averted his eyes, a plume of embarrassed steam escaping from his cheeks. “I’m sorry I ran away, Spine, I didn’t want to worry you…”

“It’s okay, Jon, I’m not mad.” The Spine pulled his chair closer to the worktable, ignoring its groans of protest. “I’m just glad you’re all right. You were malfunctioning pretty badly when I found you.”

The Jon winced. “I wasn't—” He seemed to rethink what he was about to say. “Is Michael going to replace me with that new robot he’s building? It has a blue matter core and everything…”

The Spine frowned. “Of course he’s not going to replace you. Why on Earth would you think that?”

“Everyone thinks there’s something wrong with me.” A slight tremor started up again within The Jon’s chassis. “I can’t sleep, I’m glitchy all the time, and I don’t always hear people when they’re calling me. I thought…” Fresh oily tears welled up in the corners of his optics. “I thought Michael was going to make a new robot to replace me in the band.”

The Spine felt as though someone had stuck a soldering iron straight through his motherboard.

Had he not made it clear to The Jon how much he was cared for? He knew that he had done a shameful job defending his brother after the incident with the carriage, but he himself hadn’t known what to think at the time. He knew (and would insist until he rusted) that The Jon would never knowingly have hurt anyone. But carelessness? Obliviousness? Those were well within the normal parameters for The Jon, and although it had never resulted in so severe a consequence before… The Jon’s performance metrics lately had been noticeably deteriorating, without any indication that he was interested in fixing them.

The Spine didn’t want to think about what that might mean, especially coupled with The Jon’s preoccupation with being shut off and replaced.

In any case…

Despite being the younger brother, it was his duty to watch out for The Jon, and he had failed. It was time to step up and do his job.

“The new robot isn’t going to replace you,” he said as gently as he could. “Michael needs to create a sentient, blue matter robot like us in order to work with Miss Delilah. He may try and add it to the band as a third robot member, but no one said anything about scrapping you, Jon, no matter what kind of glitches you’ve been having. Do you understand?”

The Jon was quiet for a moment before nodding. There were several confused, half-formed thoughts floating around his end of the telegraph, but after several seconds where nothing seemed to be forthcoming, The Spine at last sighed and laid a reassuring hand on the back of The Jon’s shoulder.

“I won’t tell Michael about this if you don’t want me to,” he said quietly. “And I’ll tell Matt to leave some details out of his report. They’ll probably have some questions about where you got off to today, but I can tell them you just went out with one of the horses and got distracted. It wouldn’t be the first time, huh, champ?”

Despite the wetness of his optics, The Jon’s mouth quirked up in a half smile and he gave a little sniff. Tentative, but a start. The Spine increased the pressure on his shoulder for a moment and then stood, stretching his limbs out of their cramped positions.

“I’ll go take care of that, then, before Matt gets too far in his report,” he said. “Get some rest, sport, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“ _Thanks, Spine._ ” The depth of emotion in the tweet at once warmed and pained him, but The Spine kept his face firmly neutral until he’d left the workshop.

His brother was keeping something from him. Something serious.

The Spine gave himself precisely ten seconds to breathe— _a cool boiler keeps a clear head_ —and then continued on his way towards Matt’s booth in the far corner of the building.

No matter what was haunting The Jon, The Spine would do his best to protect him from here on out. No excuses.

 -

Things went mostly back to normal after that. The rhythm of life resumed—rehearsals, shifts at the stables with the horses, daily performances in the saloon. Prilly returned to work and never blamed him for what had happened, much to the disgust of robots like Piper, who never bothered trying to hide her dislike towards The Jon. As much as it hurt, Jon did his best to ignore them. The Spine still loved him, still protected him from the harsh words, and between him, Michael, Matt, Prilly and Brianna, he had more than enough friends in town. He was happy.

And on the days he wasn't, well. He knew that it could be much worse.

Then Rabbit came to Balboa.

And from the moment the gangly copper robot stepped foot into the saloon, tripping over her own feet and ruining their concert with one of the worst malfunctions Jon had ever seen, he’d been entranced.

Rabbit was beautiful—her face, speckled with green and blue oxidation and highlighted by the most intricate grating over her cheek vents, captured The Jon’s imagination and offered up teasing little glimpses into the lovingness of her creator as they were carefully applied. Her mismatched eyes, both full of their own, unique pain, still betrayed a deep hunger and yearning for love, despite the suffering that had come before. A fierce and beautiful energy spilled from her core, one that was invisible to the other robots but called to Jon’s own with an intensity that he’d never felt before.

His world, dark and fraught with uncertainty for so long, suddenly felt beautiful again.

He’d only ever heard of this feeling secondhand, despite singing so many of The Spine’s songs about meeting girls, of holding hands at midnight, of dancing the night away. He’d only ever felt glimpses of it through the telegraph while The Spine gazed at Brianna, her small hands clasped in his, her face pink with warmth. Despite all of this, The Jon knew.

He’d fallen in love.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reunion at last!
> 
> I can't believe it's taken over two years to get to this point. Still, it was a lovely couple of scenes to write. I hope you enjoy.

The next morning dawned cold and clear. Rousing from the low-level stasis that was his norm these days, The Jon let out a light exhale of steam from his cheeks and gazed down contentedly at Rabbit, curled within his protecting arms. Affectionately, The Jon traced a gentle finger down the line of one elegant cheek vent, smiling as the sensation reached Rabbit even in stasis.

Rabbit’s head gave a twitch, and then a blue light came on behind the closed lids of one photoreceptor, followed a moment later by a green.

The Jon chirped out a greeting: “ _Good morning,_ ” tagged with an affectionate flourish on the final note. A small smile quirked at the sides of Rabbit’s mouth and at last she opened her eyes, blinking blearily up at The Jon as the last vestiges of sleep cleared.

“Mornin’,” she exhaled, expression for once unguarded and, The Jon noted with a touch of pleasure, sleepily fond. “Mm, I could get u-used to this.” Rabbit’s eyes closed again as she shifted around on the hard concrete floor, seeking out a more comfortable position. “Though m-m-maybe we oughta find a better spot next time. My back ain’t made for this.”

The Jon tutted thoughtfully. “Here, let’s try this.” He shifted backwards slightly and spread his legs, indicating for Rabbit to lean back against his chest. “I’ve seen Spine and Brianna do stuff like this before—it looks pretty comfortable.”

It took a minute or so of fussing to get Rabbit positioned exactly where she wanted to be, but once she’d settled, her chassis aligned just so with The Jon’s and head tucked neatly underneath The Jon’s chin, The Jon could barely hold back the hum of joy that bubbled up from his toes all the way to his void and his throat and beyond.

Rabbit was with him. Rabbit was letting Jon hold her and love her and wasn’t worrying for once over whether or not she deserved it.

She was happy.

And yet…

As wonderful as this moment was, they still had important Work to do, and the longer they delayed it, the harder The Jon knew it was going to be. Tentatively, he tightened his arms around Rabbit’s copper chassis.

“You know what I think we should do today?”

Rabbit twitched her head to the side, offering up a sleepy half-shrug. “Mm.”

The Jon moved one hand to stroke lovingly at the side of Rabbit’s skull, knowing that what he was about to say would probably not be well-received. “We should go see your mom.”

The languor in Rabbit’s body immediately ceased. She moved to sit up, but The Jon’s arms tightened around her.

“Listen,” The Jon said, but Rabbit shuddered and her head glitched once more to the side.

“I can’t,” she said, as if on reflex. “I can’t, Jon, I—” She took a few deep breaths to cool herself down, and The Jon pounced.

“You can,” he said, hugging Rabbit even tighter. “You’re worried she doesn’t love you anymore, but you didn’t see her yesterday, Rabbit, she _does_ , I promise. She loves you so much.”

Bella flipped inside his void, sending out waves of distress that mirrored The Jon’s own self-flagellation. He’d ruined their morning. Rabbit didn’t want to hear any of this, had thrown all of her walls back up and no longer felt worthy of the love inside of her, inside of The Jon, inside (as much as she wanted to deny it) her mother. But they couldn’t just ignore Iris; she’d come all the way to Balboa to see Rabbit. She obviously cared, and so did Rabbit, if her emotional distress was any sign. What was left of The Jon’s core pulsed futilely at his powerlessness.

“We talked about it,” he said fumblingly, grasping at whatever he could to try and change Rabbit’s mind. “Yesterday, before you—” _Not the time, Jon. Don’t say it._  “—you said that no matter what happens, we were going to stick together. If she doesn’t want you anymore, which isn’t true, then you can stay here in Balboa with me and Spine and Michael, and I’ll love you just the same, and we’ll be fine.” The Jon closed his eyes briefly against the quick flash of pained disbelief that crossed Rabbit’s face at that word. “And… and if she _does_ still want you, which is true, cross my void and hope to rust, then I’ll come with you back to wherever she’s living and we’ll… everything will be okay.”

Rabbit was silent for a moment, stroking her fingers lightly over The Jon’s arm in the self-soothing gesture that had become very familiar to them both over the past 24 hours. The Jon stayed very quiet and still, the better to let Rabbit think.

“I…” Rabbit sighed from deep inside her bellows. “Fine. But if she doesn’t want me—”

“If she’s mean to you, we’ll leave right away,” The Jon promised. “But she won’t be, you’ll see.”

 

-

 

It was Jon who ended up knocking on Iris’ door.

Beside him, Rabbit was shaking with almost imperceptible tremors, fixing and re-fixing her dress and fussing with her belts as if their correct placement would ensure a favorable outcome. At last The Jon grabbed her wrists, gently holding them in place.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Just relax.”

“Easy for you to say,” Rabbit groused. She was about to say more, but both of their ears suddenly picked up movement from inside the room and then Iris’ voice rang out, causing Rabbit to freeze.

“Come in, Jon dear,” she called. “The Spine told me you’d be along.”

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this. She could hardly feel her insides, her gears were spinning so quickly. She’d probably thrown one of them out, broken a chain somewhere. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—

The door opened.

And there was Iris, dressed in one of the daytime skirts and bodices she’d most favored while at Walter Manor, and for a brief, disorienting moment, Rabbit could not be certain of exactly what year it was.

“Rabbit?”

There. There. It was 1897, of course it was. Her voice had changed slightly in the months they’d been apart, and a few new wrinkles had been added to her face. With an anxious glance towards The Jon, Rabbit took a small step forward and tried to smile.

“Hi… hi-hiya, Ma.” The glitches were humiliating. The left side of her mouth refused to stop twitching, and she could feel the tremors spreading to her arms and knees. What kind of mother would want her child in such a condition? “I’m, um. S-s-sorry about yesterday. Me not bein’ really friendly and all.”

“You had every right to be upset with me,” Iris said. Her face, her voice, her entire demeanor was carefully polite, as though she were speaking to a stranger. Rabbit’s core ached. “You were without your mother for far too long without an explanation. I cannot express how deeply sorry I am for that.”

Rabbit inclined her head, at once grateful for the apology and pained at the distance that yawned between them like a gaping chasm. She wanted nothing more than to go to Iris, to be held by her and to have her stroke Rabbit’s head like she used to, back when they were a real family. But were they, anymore? “W-w-well… I’m here now. An’ I’m all ears, if you wanna tell me.”

The Jon made a quiet, disapproving noise behind her back, but Rabbit ignored him. Iris had said herself that Rabbit hadn’t gotten a proper explanation for why she’d been abandoned. It wasn’t unreasonable to ask for one.

Iris sighed. “Things became… much more complicated than I had originally planned when I brought up the idea of sending you to live with Mr. Becile. I had assumed, at the time, that he would take you in and treat you as one of his own, as your father and I did with you. When I learned instead what was going on…”

“You stopped sending me letters,” Rabbit interrupted, unable to keep the anger and hurt from her voice. “I—I kn-know I was a bad robot there, but you didn’t n-n-need to just leave me and… and f-fo-forget about me!”

Iris’ face creased in pain. “Dearest, I never forgot about you, not for a moment. Whatever put that idea into your head?”

“You _moved!_ ” Rabbit all but shouted, ignoring The Jon’s startled flinch beside her. “You… y-you used to send me a letter almost every day, an’ then you started just sendin’ me one every week, and then after Mr. Becile wrote you I stopped g-g-gettin’ _any_ , an’ I know I deserved it, ‘cause I was b-b-being so bad, but…” She would not cry, _she would not cry_. “I thought… I th-thought you’d…” The Jon moved close behind her, placing a gentle hand on her waist, and she couldn’t hold it back any longer. “I thought you’d stopped _loving_ me.”

Iris took a step forward, hand half-outstretched in aborted entreaty.

“Rabbit. Darling.” She looked between the two of them as if trying to ascertain who would be more likely to listen. “Please believe me when I tell you that there is nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you.”

Rabbit’s chassis shuddered with suppressed sobs as oily tears trickled out from beneath her optics. She… she couldn’t really mean that, could she? She was just being kind, knew that was what Rabbit desperately wanted to hear and was just saying it to make her feel better, but she couldn’t know. She had to know just how horrible of a daughter she had been, how little of her love Rabbit actually deserved.

“You d-d-don’t understand.” Rabbit wiped futilely at her face. “You d-d-don’t understand, Ma, I w-was such a bad, bad robot. I r-r-ran away. Twice. And Mr. Becile had to p-p-punish me real bad.”

Iris didn’t reply for a moment and Rabbit waited, bellows still, for her to come to the same conclusion she had and agree that yes, Rabbit had been a terrible daughter and a terrible houseguest and robot, and this was precisely why she’d decided to abandon her in the first place. She waited for the lecture that was undoubtedly about to come about responsibility, and manners, and how dare she have run away— _multiple times_ —from the Beciles after all of the trouble her mother had gone through to get her there in the first place?

But none of that happened.

When Iris spoke again, her voice was very quiet, and very small. “Rabbit, is that why your eye—” Her throat closed on the words as though she couldn’t go on.

Rabbit shook her head.

“No, that was… That was somethin’ different.” The Jon made a discreet motion to Iris, who retrieved a small, black handkerchief out of her suitcase and offered it, tentatively, to Rabbit. After a moment’s pause, Rabbit accepted it.

“I wr-wr-wrote you a letter after it happened,” she went on, wiping at her optics with the handkerchief. “I told you all about everythin’. About my fingers, an’… well.” The fingers of her right hand twitched. “But I guess it didn’t get to you, huh?”

“I didn’t receive any letters, Rabbit.” Iris’ voice was heavy with sorrow and regret. “After the first several weeks, correspondence from both you and Mr. Becile had tapered off, but when I saw you on my visits, you seemed to be doing so well… And once Mr. Becile told me about the conferences, I certainly wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

Rabbit’s head shot up. “Conferences? What c-c-conferences?”

“For your education.” Iris’ tone was bitter. “Mr. Becile explained to me that he would be taking you on a tour of scientific and inventor’s conferences throughout California in order to improve your understanding of the world, as well as provide you with what he termed a more “useful” occupation than musicianship.” She sighed, and suddenly her face seemed much older than it had a minute before.

“I’m very sorry I didn’t come find you sooner, Rabbit, it was an oversight and a terrible misjudgment on my part as your mother. I… I believed everything Mr. Becile told me, and never for a moment thought that he would have the gall to lie to me so baldly about the state of my only child. Excuse me.” Retrieving a second handkerchief from her suitcase, she carefully patted at her own eyes. “Eventually I began to question him, as I had not heard from either of you in weeks, but I never received a reply. I managed to secure a day for myself and made the journey to confront him directly, but by that time… he told me you were gone.” Fresh tears brimmed beneath her eyes, and Rabbit felt the gears tighten in her chest in response.

“I… I’m sorry I never told ya I was goin’, Ma,” she said quietly, “but there wasn’t time. They… They were gonna hurt me again, t-t-take me apart to see how P-Pappy made me, an’ I… I couldn’t let them do that.”

“You also thought I was no longer interested in being your mother,” Iris replied, voice thick with tears. “I’m so sorry, darling, for how utterly irresponsible I have been. It was never my intention to abandon you, or subject you to the whims of such a selfish, sadistic man. How can you ever forgive me?”

Rabbit looked at The Jon, still standing beside her with both hands lightly resting on her waist. The golden bot smiled, tweeted something complicated that Rabbit didn’t quite understand, and then pushed her gently forward.

Rabbit looked back at her mother.

“Do you… d-d’you still… love me?” she asked, haltingly.

Iris sniffled and looked up at her, expression a mix of pained and confused.

“Of course I do, dearest. More than anything.”

Rabbit grimaced, preparing herself for the next question. “And… y-y-y-you promise that you won’t ever leave me again? Not for anythin’, not even if you think it’s w-what’s best?”

Iris sniffed again, wiped her eyes, and nodded. “I promise.”

“Then…” Rabbit took a breath. Stepped forward, and opened her arms. “Th-then I forgive ya. You’re my Ma, an’… I c-can’t leave you.” She shuddered and closed her optics momentarily against the pain. “I m-missed you so much, Ma.”

Iris coughed out a sob of disbelief and threw herself forward into Rabbit’s arms, and The Jon respectfully turned away to allow them their happy reunion while Bella flipped and cavorted with joy inside his void.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Conversion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11512383) by [The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea/pseuds/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea)




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